USUK Drabble Calendar: June 2014
by 365daysofUSUK
Summary: A drabble a day keeps you in USUK! The file for the USUK Drabble Calendar, the month of June in the year of 2014.
1. June 1st, 2014

**ARTIST: **alfiewithfries

**AUTHOR:** hetaliawings

**June 1st, 2014 - England's Personality**

America and England argue again.

"I can't believe it! Are you that-" the Brit was interrupted by the loud voice of the American.

"Why can't you just be kind and sweet all the time, without criticizing me! I hate you!"

England stopped and stared at the American, with large eyes that showed a little bit of sadness.

"You... You really want me to be like that?"

"Well, yeah!..."

England opened his mouth, but shut it. There was anything to say, right? The person that said "I love you so much" just shot that would be better if he acted different. And worse: is personality wasn't like that all the time. Only sometimes, when he was really happy or wanted to be sweet because America was sick, or was his birthday (which he still didn't like that much).

The Brit just left the room, leaving America in the middle of the living room. The American was so pissed off! And worse: this time was his fault. It was him that started arguing, and it was him ho acted childish.

"Oh my dear Alfred, do you want that wish to come true?" someone said.

America turned around, and there, in front of him... No more nor less: a fairy. A fairy with short, dark hair and red cape.

"What?"

"I'll make that wish come true then. Tell me how it felt like tonight!"

And just like that, the fairy was gone. Before America could say, think or do anything... England entered the room.

"England, dude! I just..."

"America, do you want me to cook something for you?" the America glared at England, confused "Or do! I'll make anything! You only need to ask! Remember that movie that you said last week?"

_Did England remembered that?_

And so the day continued. England was being incredibly sweet, and kind, and always doing everything America told him to. He even let it pass when America said something like "Are ya gonna with he?"... With his mouth full of food.

It was somewhat good... But...

America didn't like it.

England being like that for an hour or two was fine, but all time? That wasn't fine at all! America liked the way England would shot at him for don't talk properly, for telling him his food was nasty (even thought he would eat it anyway), arguing with him about what football really is... He even missed the way he talked when he was mad!

He liked when he was so confident about dating, but blush madly at simple thinks like kiss... Or sex.

He just wanted his England back!

"Had enough already?" America didn't need to turn around. He knew ho it was. It was the fairy "Ohnohnohn! I knew it! You love your little tsundere, don't you?"

And just like that, she disappeared again. And England, just like before, appeared... This time, with his face all red.

"You bloody git! Why did you... The fairy... DUMBA-" America hold him close.

"I'm sorry... I really love you, England... All of you."


	2. June 2nd, 2014

**ARTIST:** Gelato-kitty **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** Kelbora

**June 2nd, 2014 – The New Golden Age  
**

The death of a gentle titan heralded the solemn proclamation of succession from the balustrade of St. James. From the shadows of sorrow, came the first matriarch to bear the burdens of the crown since Her Majesty, Victoria; though it was the spirit of the new queen's namesake people were hoping to reign reborn. As the loyal masses, tired from years of war and desperate for restitution for their hope, watched and waited around the world, the ancient rites of ascension to a deteriorating throne played out once more.

He wanted to feel the people's optimism, but all he could marshal was exhaustion.

"You know, people would pay good money for your reserved seat in the front row," the man in the newly occupied space beside him began. "Yet here you are, loitering about the gallery, like a relative without an invitation."

The old empire never batted an eye and continued watching the proceedings below, as the Archbishop of Canterbury continued leading prayers for the new queen. "Though I know this may be difficult to believe, I graciously and _freely_ abdicated my seat to someone more eager to sit amongst this sacred pageantry."

He didn't have to look at his former protégé's face to know the harsher truth behind his words had not gone unobserved. Alfred knew Arthur wasn't avoiding the undesirable company of ostentatious nobles; he was avoiding the eyes of the world.

The time of imperialism had withered and breathed its last. The war had worn the Englishman down to his bones and carved itself into the fabric of his being. His pristine ceremonial uniform was ill-fit and hung about him loosely, barely held in place by the belts that looked to be holding him together too. The real secret of his symmetry, however, was the bandages keeping his back straight and protecting his still-tender wounds from bleeding through his publically acceptable shroud.

The empire within him was dying. The restoration of his strength now teetered on the will of his Commonwealths to continue supporting him and the young woman kneeling before God.

He always seemed to be at someone's mercy these days…

"This should be a time of renewed optimism and I see your people eager to believe that…so can't you, too?" Alfred asked with his own cautious hope.

The elder closed his eyes to compose his carefully constructed façade of wellness, and tightened his hands behind his back. "It's the very reason I separate myself from them now.

"My state is a reminder of the past four decades of hell humanity has wrought upon itself and this world. We have survived on the blood of young men and dogged pride for too long, and now we stand with what many would consider a hollow victory and naught but rations to show for it. I know my appearance reflects that…and I will not make a disparaging spectacle of myself when all eyes want to and should be focused upon the first real hope we've had in years. The people need this moment…not a reminder that our golden era has ended."

For a few blissful moments Alfred rewarded his painful emission with peace, letting his senior listen to the words of Her new Majesty echo through the consecrated halls of Westminster. Arthur remembered a time when her father and grandfather had spoken those same words, as so many of their sovereign predecessors had before them…

"I'm proud of you."

Arthur returned from the scene below and suspiciously met the eyes of the man beside him. "Are you mocking me?"

The American shook his head and smiled. "I'm being sincere. I'm proud of you," he repeated, and turned to face Arthur with his hands in his pockets. "These past two wars have changed us, yes, but we're still here. The days of empires are at an end, but you're not…and this alliance we've formed, that's not ending either."

Arthur furrowed his brows but Alfred was swift to stop him before pessimism found breath. "Your people want this to be the start of something new and I do too. I don't just want to have each other's backs in trenches and on battlefields anymore…I want us to have them all the time."

"Alfred," the Englishman stopped him and tightened his expression. "What are you getting on about?"

The young man just chuckled, tossed his head up and rocked back on his heels in a juvenile fashion. The energy about him was anxious and giddy, and seemed to be getting in the way of his words; so when he leaned forward, taking hold of Arthur's hand and placing a small box in it, Arthur was only moderately surprised.

"Do you remember before D-Day when we exchanged tags…so that if one of us was killed they'd appear on our own army's killed-in-action rosters and we'd know? I checked the lists every day, sometimes twice a day for my name and was glad to have never seen it," Alfred began in a hopeless ramble, still trying to channel his thoughts into coherent speech. "It was like…they were good luck charms and that helped me keep going most of the time. I just kept thinking about that over and over…"

Arthur kept his eyes locked onto Alfred's face, as the other seemed like he was trying to move towards some point while not letting go of the Englishman's hand.

"You said it yourself, it was the first time you could remember not dying in a war. I know you tell me I'm a sentimental fool, but that meant something to me," the American said with a more nostalgic…older smile.

It was then, while the choirs of the Anglican church sang their divine hymns to call God to Her Majesty, he took his free hand and pulled the ball-linked chain bearing two British fiber-disk dog tags from beneath his collar. Arthur stared at them transfixed for a time, before finding it in him to look back at Alfred, whose smile had only widened. "These have been my good luck charms too, and I owe you a lot of thanks for them. So, when you're ready to let me…I'd like to spend the next eternity doing just that."

Arthur remained speechless, especially when Alfred used his hold to pull the other into his embrace and kiss him chastely on the lips; leaving more of a heartfelt promise than passion.

"God save the queen and long live England," the American whispered, and it was all Arthur could hear even with the crowd chanting the same below them.

With lingering hesitancy, Alfred released the dazed Englishman and made his way from the gallery. Arthur remained rooted to the spot for some time before he realized the box left in his hand.

With no small amount of tentativeness on his part, Arthur removed the lid on the unremarkable parcel and stared at the simple gold ring looped through a ball-linked chain, bearing the tags he had returned to Alfred after the war.

Alfred's tags and a ring conveying Alfred's message:

_From one equal to another, will you marry me? _

**~June 2****nd****, 1952: Fin~**


	3. June 3rd, 2014

**AUTHOR:** Rotifora

**June 3rd, 2014**

June 1750

"England, what is more important in running an empire, the strength within its government or the loyalty of its colonies?"

America asked as he was sawing a large white pine he had felled earlier. Canada was having a hard time keeping up with his pace and needed time to recover under the diminishing shade the forest provided; it was nearing nightfall. England sat on a stump off to the edge of the clearing supervising their progress. The three were secluded quite a distance from the nearest settlement near Fort William Henry in order to avoid complications. England did not want the settlers to see more of America's feats of inhuman strength. He was getting weary of constant witch hunts toward his colony. Though at times it proved entertaining listening to the wild stories the colonist made up to explain America's accidental slips when he enters a town's local pub. He wonders what stories they will come up with once the logging company moves in tomorrow to this area and witnesses large sections cleared off overnight.

Earlier England remarked on Canada's lack of strength yet surplus of obedience while comparing America's surplus of strength yet lack of obedience when America voiced his question. To say the least England was quiet for a moment searching for an appropriate answer.

"I am not sure" was all England could quietly reply. Knowing that America would be dissatisfied with such a response he cleared his throat and firmly stated so that the noise of the sawing would not drown out his " what would a colony find most important, the strength of empire or loyalty to her?"

America stopped his rhythm and simply stated, "Loyalty to me. It matters not if said empire is weak because as long as the loyalty is mutual than all is fine."

An empire also has fewer complications if her colonies are loyal.

Canada rose from his futile spot as night fell and joined his brother in chopping the branches off of a lesser pine as he too quietly voiced in broken English, "A weak empire cannot protect its colonies."

England assumed Canada was referring to France and how he refuses to add more permanent settlements on his lands to counter England's continual advances, or he should say the colonists.

"Don't worry Canada. England is really strong, in fact he is the strongest so you will be safe with us when France gives up. Right, England?" America proudly claimed as he rested the ax over his right shoulder, having finished with the day's quota and smiling so wide that it reached his eyes. How England envied that part of America so carefree yet sure of the world's order. He would blame himself for instilling that untested confidence on America if he could but he can't. It came natural to America and it was why he was chosen instead of France all those decades ago. _America trusts and confides in me._

"Of Course I am the strongest and most cunning. France stands no chance against me and will continue on that way if you two don't hurry it up and load all this lumber down to the river. After all an empire must protect its colonies and these timbers will be used for that," England confidently stated.

"How many ships will be built with all that we cut today?" America asked, already hauling easily the white pine he worked on down the river bank where more were waiting to be pushed by the current down to the nearest sawmill.

"A mighty ship of the line I should think and a frigate will do fine with today's efforts. We will continue in a fortnight and finish this section before I head off to London in a months' time." England said, also watching how effortlessly America handled his load. _He has grown in strength and stature in my long absence. And his voice is changing to a baritone. Will he still have need of me once he has grown to full maturity and what will I do once that day comes?_

England was startled out of his thoughts as America's crestfallen face appeared before him with barely a hands distance and said," Why are you leaving so soon after abandoning for so long here in this wilderness? Don't you miss me anymore? The war in Europe is over so why can't you stay a little longer and rest here with us…with me?"

Reluctantly England stepped back and softly replied, "A war is won by overpowering the enemy and peace is maintained through constant vigilance America. I must return back and build up my reserves and maintain order in Europe else the empire will be no more. You know that." England made sure to teach a little about politics and ruling to America last time he came so that he wouldn't cry at his next leaving. England wonders whether America will cry or be resigned to his eventual departure. England was firm with his next reply, "And don't believe anything France feeds you about me."

"Yes I know."

America was oddly quiet as the three hiked down the path to the nearest settlement for the night. England was tempted to offer a reassuring word to him and decided not to, confident that America understood his place and importance.


	4. June 4th, 2014

**ARTIST:** Tsuki-nii **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for 365daysofusuk)**

**AUTHOR:** sweetayako15

**June 4th, 2014 – Adorable**

If America had a dollar for every time he was put in this type of situation, he would no longer be in debt. Currently, he had a certain English country hanging off him as he walked out to his car. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw Germany dragging a sleeping Prussian from the same bar. The poor owner of the place must have the patience of the gods to put up with this every time the world meetings were in England.

Tossing his friend into the backseat of the car, America got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot that seemed to be inhabited by nations from all around the world; some drunk, others hauling off the drunk ones. The American nation drove towards England's house, remembering to stay on the left side of the road, and soon arrived at a modest home in the hills outside of the city.

Unloading the Englishman from the car, America pulls off his jacket to hide Arthur's less than modest form. He looks away as he gathers the other in nation into his arms and closes the door to the car. As he walks towards the house, Arthur begins to murmur and stir in his arms. Oh why hadn't he just made France take England home?

Because he probably would hear about some pretty disturbing stuff about the night's events later, that's why.

As the front door was open, with some maneuvering on America's part, the tall nation walks into the house. Clean, orderly, and smelling like the roses in the garden out back, the house was everything England was not in that moment. Speaking of the nation, the blonde begins to stir in Alfred's arms, looking up with hazy eyes.

"Alfred?"

America freezes as he hears his actual name, eyes darting down at the nation in his arms.

"Yes, Arthur?"

It takes a few seconds, but soon the smaller is looking up at him with a dizzy, happy smile. "You can be so ador-… adore-"

"Adorable?" America finishes with a smirk and a shake of the head.

"Yeah…" Arthur slurs as he nestles back into Alfred's embrace.

America only hums in return and starts to make his way up the stairs to the Brit's bedroom. He thinks about staying the night, maybe crashing in one of the guest bedroom just to make sure someone was there for the older nation when he woke up in the morning. However, just as he reaches the door to the bedroom, England decides to upchuck everything onto the American's chest.

'Well that's definitely not adorable,' Alfred thinks as he throws England on to his bed and leaves the room, ignoring the grunt of pain and forgetting his jacket as well.


	5. June 5th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** in-spring

**June 5th, 2014**

It's a quarter after one, and Arthur's running on his third cup of tea and Gilbert's drunken texts in hopes of finishing this dreaded essay. The glare of the computer screen stings his eyes, and the flickering overhead light's constant hum drives him crazy. He wants nothing more than to dive headfirst into his bed, even if the mattress springs poke out in uncomfortable places and the pillow is hard and smells like shampoo and fast food.

His phone buzzes:

- was thinkn takeout

- do u like pork

- ?

Arthur props his chin in his palm and stares at Alfred's messages. He's too tired to type out a reply, and sometimes, with Alfred, it's much easier to just call him. He's in the midst of dialing the familiar digits when he receives a photo: the Chinese restaurant near the laundromat, open sign a blur of red-blue light; he makes out the outline of Alfred's upper body, half of his face, and obnoxiously-yellow hoodie in the glow of the nightlife. Arthur presses the call button.

"I went ahead and bought the pork," is what Alfred says, foregoing a greeting.

Arthur rubs his eyes. They ache, but so does everywhere else in his head at the moment. "That's quite alright." He saves his work on the computer; he doesn't want to risk losing it all now and have to start over. "Why are you awake?"

"We had plans." Alfred hums something far too cheery and upbeat for such an hour. "But Matt told me you had some shit to do, soooooooo I'm coming to visit you! And you can't turn me away now because I went all the way out in the rain to get food for you. So ha!"

Arthur leans back in his chair; it creaks behind him, but that might be his spine popping in place after sitting in the same cramped position for so long. His lips twitch at the corners. "The food may stay."

"What about me?" he sounds genuinely curious, a bit hopeful, eager; a puppy starved for affection and more than willing to please. "Can I stay too?"

"Mm," says Arthur, "we'll see."

Alfred whines Artie, low and drawn out; it does things to Arthur's heart – and well, perhaps his dick. "I'll blow you under the desk?"

"Free food and sex? Tempting."

"I better be the only one offering you this, too," Alfred says. Arthur can imagine the narrowing of his eyes and downward curve of his lips, probably on his way back to the campus, keying in through the girls' dormitory entrance and cutting through the courtyard to his hall. "Anyways, shitty cell service through here. Talk to you in a few?"

"I suppose," Arthur agrees, cradling the cell between his shoulder and ear. He's more relaxed now. "See you soon."

Alfred clears his throat, and then says, cutesy-voiced and laughing: "love you, Artie."

Something warm comes over Arthur then, bubbling up between his lungs and stomach till it's ready to burst. Such an absurd response to Alfred's silly confessions, but the feeling is as real as the meaning behind Alfred's words despite the mindless way of saying it.

"Brat," he says, but he supposes the fondness slips in because Alfred laughs again, softer and, dare he say, shier.

Arthur carefully places the phone on his computer desk and saves his essay once again. There's always tomorrow.

For now, though, he'd like to share the night and Chinese takeout with his boyfriend.


	6. June 6th, 2014

**ARTIST:** wirzel (**Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for 365daysofusuk)**

**AUTHOR:** sugarchains

**June 6th, 2014 – Remembering**

"Do you remember how nervous you were?"

"Oh my God, please don't remind me."

"I had never seen you that nervous. You're never anxious about things like this."

"Arthur, what are you even doing-?"

"I'm at your place. Is this what Americans do on June sixth? Celebrate that invasion?"

"...Kinda, yeah."

"Most people want to forget about that. That was...that day was not something I want to relive. Ever."

"It's kinda the last time I was really considered the hero. It's important to us. Besides, it's important to me personally."

"Not as America?"

"As Alfred."

"And may I ask why?"

"Dude, you don't remember?"

"What am I supposed to-?"

"That was the first time I kissed you and you kissed back."

"Oh, Al..."

"I think I was more nervous about doing that and not surviving than I was about the actual invasion."

"You're a prat. What time are you coming back?"

"You actually love me though. I have to work late today, so I won't get home until like seven? Think you can stay up that late, old man?"

"Fuck you, I can stay up late."

"Good, because I'll need you awake."

"...Why?"

"Because I plan to celebrate the successful invasion with a successful invasion of your shores."

"You're disgusting."

"To be fair, you invaded first. While I was quite young."

"Shut up."

"Literal cradle robbing, if you will."

"See if I cook for you tonight."

"I won't mind."

"You are actually a child."

"...Um."

"DON'T."

"I love you?"

"You better, bitch. Go finish your work so you can come home."

"'Bye England!"


	7. June 7th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**June 7th, 2014 – His Alfred**

Arthur Kirkland had been born mute. Many people he met throughout his life seemed to pity him, but Arthur had never felt sorry for himself. He was happy, and he didn't feel like being mute had ruined his life.

But he did worry all the time that his disability would affect one person: his soul mate.

Arthur had a tattoo across his shoulder blades that said "Arthur, it's me: Alfred." They were the first words his soul mate would say to him. There were all kinds of tattoos out there, patterned across people's bodies from birth, and no matter what was written there, every single one meant the same thing: that was how you'd find your soul mate.

But Arthur was mute.

So his soul mate wouldn't have a tattoo of their own.

Arthur had worried about this problem ever since he could remember. Being mute had never really bothered him, except when it came to his soul mate. He hated the thought that this Alfred boy was out there right now with completely bare skin, the kids at school picking on him for not having a soul mate. Alfred probably believed that he was alone in the universe, thinking his soul mate had died or maybe believing that he was just unlovable. And Arthur felt responsible, knowing his soul mate must be miserable all because he was mute. Arthur loved Alfred already, knowing they were the perfect match and feeling sorry for leaving him alone like this, and he didn't want Alfred to be unhappy. He wanted him to know that Arthur was out there, waiting.

Arthur got Facebook when he was fifteen, ready to begin his quest in earnest. Every day he would search for new Alfreds, and send them all the same message:

"_Hello._

_I'm very sorry to bother you, but I have a soul mate tattoo with the name "Alfred" on it. I know it's not exactly polite to message all the Alfreds on Facebook, but you see there is an issue that prevents me from finding my soul mate in the ordinary way, so I hope you don't mind my messaging you to check._

_I am mute, so I just wanted to see if there was an Alfred out there who had no soul mate tattoo. Since I can't talk, I was worried that my soul mate would have no tattoo and would think he didn't have a match._

_If you do have a soul mate tattoo, then please feel free to ignore this message. I wish you all the best._

_If, by any chance, you don't have a soul mate tattoo, then please don't hesitate to get in touch. Although I can't promise anything, there is a chance that we might be a match._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Arthur Kirkland._"

Arthur never got any responses, only a few messages saying "_Its not me sorry. Good luck._"

It wasn't until Arthur was sixteen that he finally got a different sort of reply, and when he opened up his messages that morning and saw such a long message in his inbox, he couldn't help the way his heart leapt into his throat.

"_Hey Arthur!_

_I don't really know what to say, I was so shocked by your message. It's kind of hard to type I'm so nervous!_

_The thing is I don't have a soul mate tattoo. I always thought…well like you said, I thought I didn't have a match basically._

_I know it's a long shot, and there could be tons of reasons why I don't have a tattoo, but I had to message you back and just…check. I don't know how we'd figure it out but I'd really love to chat more._

_From Alfred F. Jones_"

Arthur's body felt charged with energy. His fingers trembled as he typed back his reply, and he was pretty certain that he could have run around the world and back without breaking a sweat.

In fact, the only reason he didn't move from the computer to release some of his buzzing energy was because Alfred F. Jones had added him as a friend on Facebook, and Arthur spent the next half hour shamelessly trawling through the American boy's photos. He knew it was a bit creepy, but he was sure Alfred was doing the same with his own profile.

They emailed each other every day after that.

It started with things like "_So what's your favorite movie?_" and "_You've never heard of The Clash?!_" but soon developed into more personal messages.

"_People always treat me like I'm broken because I don't have a soul mate tattoo. And it hurts enough without everyone giving me sad eyes and whispering behind my back._"

"_I know how you feel, Alfred. People just seem to freeze up and forget how to interact when they realise I'm mute. Like I'm a bloody alien species and they're not quite sure what to do with me._"

After six months, Arthur couldn't deny he was in love.

Alfred was way out of his league in the looks department, and so much more friendly and charming that they couldn't possibly be a match. Arthur didn't want to get his hopes up, and it was almost greedy of him to hog Alfred to himself like this when the American couldn't possibly be meant to be his, so Arthur should really just let him go.

But it seemed that Alfred was so desperate to have a soul mate after so many years of being alone that he'd even consider Arthur for the position. He started sending more and more intimate messages, suggesting a future together and confessing feelings Arthur was sure couldn't be real.

"_I know we have different tastes and like different things, but soul mates don't always have to be identical, you know? I wouldn't mind spending my life with you, even with you nagging at me about my taste in music. XD_ "

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. Alfred obviously had no idea he was just using Arthur as a surrogate soul mate, directing years worth of longing and loneliness on him because he thought Arthur was his only option. It broke his heart, but Arthur had to help Alfred understand.

"_Alfred you're only saying these things because you thought you didn't have a soul mate, and now I've come along and given you a chance you're directing all these feelings at me which aren't really there. You're too good for me, Alfred. I'm not being melodramatic it's just a fact. I'm sure you do have a soul mate out there somewhere, but it can't be me._"

There was a long pause, and when the reply finally flashed onto Arthur's computer screen it made him jump.

"_I've been saving up. Soon I'll have enough money to fly to England to see you. I'd like to talk about this in person. Is that okay?_"

Arthur knew it was selfish, but he couldn't say no, and one month later, he was waiting for Alfred at the airport.

He was so nervous he thought his heart might just stop at any moment, and his legs started shaking so badly he had to find somewhere to sit down. He collapsed onto a bench with his head in his hands, focused only on calming his panicked breaths before they quit altogether from the strain.

Someone tapped his shoulder and Arthur shot up in alarm, already so anxious that the slightest touch made him almost leap out of his skin.

"Arthur, it's me: Alfred. Sorry I scared you. It's just me…"

Arthur looked up into the bright blue eyes that he'd fallen in love with in photographs. They were so much more stunning in real life, and so expressive that Arthur knew instantly Alfred wasn't confused about his feelings.

Alfred raised his hands and, to Arthur's surprise, began to sign slowly.

"_I love you. Don't ever doubt that. I don't need a tattoo to know you're my soul mate._"

Arthur nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.

"_I love you, too,_" he signed. "_Thank you…for giving me a chance._" His hands were shaking badly, so Alfred quickly took them in his own, wrapped them around his waist and hugged Arthur close.

"Thank you for finding me," Alfred whispered in his ear.


	8. June 8th, 2014

June 8th, 2014 - Brownies

**AUTHOR:** hetafix

**June 8th, 2014 - Brownies**

A postman. A lost citizen. A surprise visit from the Prime Minister. But one thing England did not expect upon opening his front door was a confused American squinting back at him.

"…What are you doing here?" Really, five in the afternoon on a Sunday? Why must he have been interrupted on his day off? "How did you even get here?"

America gaped at the other for a few moments, his brain visibly trying to process the last questions.

"Uhh…"

"Look, just… Come inside, alright?" the Englishman said with an exasperated sigh. After a few seconds of thinking - or at least attempting to - America finally stepped through the door, the shorter nation eyeing him critically, as he answered the question originally posed to him.

"Uh… I dunno." His reply came slowly, with a sudden half-smile and a slight chuckle. "Dude, I seriously don't know. I guess it'd be… cool to hang out. Or somethin'. Can I use your couch?"

"Christ, are you _high_?!"

"Nah, just…" America paused to recapture his floating thoughts for a moment. "Maybe, yeah."

England had to clench his fists and shut his eyes quickly to keep himself from lashing out too much at the spacey blonde. "Oh for heavens- fine. Go sit on the sofa, I'll cook up some dinner."

Ordinarily, America would have protested, insisting that he join England in the kitchen, but in his current out-of-it state, he was all too content to let the Brit lead him to the sofa. England then headed to the kitchen to prepare some food.

Only a few minutes later, however, he turned to find Alfred leaning against the doorframe looking like a lost puppy.

"What is it?" England asked after a pause. Suddenly, Alfred's face lit up a little, and he stared at a particular spot on Arthur's counter.

"Yo, is that brownie mix?"

England turned to look at the box. "…Perhaps."

"Can I… Can I make some?"

"Alfred, I don't think you're in any state to-" But one saddened look from the younger cut him off. Damn, even stoned, America could pull off those puppy eyes too well.

"Alright," England conceded. "Just don't mess up _my_ cooking."

An hour later, both men were sat on the sofa in a silence soon broken by Arthur.

"American brownies are weird…"

"No, no, no no," Alfred soon started giggling. "See, it's like a mix of hash, and brownie, right? But it sounds like… like hash /brown/."

"Woah."

"Woah."

"So… it's a brownie…"

"Yeah."

"With hash."

"Yeah."

"Woah… I didn't know you could do that."

So they spent the rest of the evening lazily complaining about the terrible television programs and throwing popcorn at it.

They didn't even realise it was off.


	9. June 9th, 2014

June 9th, 2014 - See You Soon

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**June 9th, 2014 - See You Soon**

"When do you have to leave?"

England chuckled. "America, I only just arrived! Have you grown tired of me already?"

America's big blue eyes widened almost comically in horror. "N-no! Never!" he cried, practically latching himself onto England's arm and burying his head into his shoulder. "I never want you to leave! I just wanna know how long you'll be here!"

"I know, pet, I know," he said with a small laugh, "I was only joking with you." He smiled kindly and gathered America up in a hug, placing him comfortably onto his lap. America happily snuggled into his arms. "You have me for five whole months."

"That's all?" America pouted. "That's how long it takes you to get _here_."

England rolled his eyes. "Don't be foolish, from the time I leave home, it only takes me six weeks."

"It_ feels_ like that long."

England smiled to himself. As much as he hated to see his little America sad, he couldn't help but selfishly relish in the young colony's attention.

America, very unlike his usual loud and energetic self, was staring up at the stars, a determined and pensive look on his young face. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of a decision and nodded stubbornly.

"When I'm big, I'm gonna invent something to get you here quicker."

England blinked. "Is that so?" he asked. "How are you going to do that?"

America shrugged. "I'll think of something. Maybe I could put special sails on your boat…" His eyes lit up suddenly, "Or I could make you fly!"

"Make me _fly_?" England asked, with a snort. "I imagine I would look quite silly soaring through the air like a bird, America."

"Then _I'll _fly to you!" he exclaimed, fidgeting around excitedly. He wiggled his way off England's lap and began pacing, talking excitedly to himself. "I don't mind looking silly! I'll make wings, and fly myself over the ocean, and we'll be able to see each other super fast!"

England chuckled, enjoying America's excitement at his own imagination. "Well, if you're willing to put yourself in danger, I suppose I can give flying a try." He shook his head. "However, I suspect I'll always prefer sailing. But if it's for you…"

"You'll see," America grinned. "You can count on me!"

England sat on the hard, uncomfortable seat, absentmindedly checking his e-mails on his smartphone, until the intercom came to life above him, earning his attention.

_"Hello passengers__,_" a cheery voice called. "_We will begin boarding our eight-thirty flight to New York at this time. We will start with our first class passengers, uniformed military personnel, and those needing extra assistance. Thank you, and thank you for flying with British Airways!_"

With a grunt, England slung his laptop case over his shoulder with one hand and picked up his rolling suitcase with the other, making his way to the queue of people also lining up at the gate.

Out through the window, England admired the impressive Boeing 747 shining in the sunlight and smiled. Somehow, the weather was always beautiful the day he left for a meeting in America.

'_Boarding now._' He texted America as he walked down the tunnel. "_I should be in at approximately 11 your time. DO NOT BE LATE AGAIN._"

'_omg_ _t__hat was 1 time! D:_' America responded, almost immediately. England rolled his eyes and took his seat. After a few moments, his phone vibrated once again with yet another message from America.

England read the message and smiled.

'_c u soon!_'


	10. June 10th, 2014

June 10th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** black-rose-authoress

**June 10th, 2014**

Alfred Jones, just turned sixteen-years-old, was slogging his way through a marsh. He was soaked from his waist all the way down to his ruined boots, he was covered in mud and other slimy gunk, and he was shivering convulsively every few seconds. But he wasn't going to let any of that get him down, because today was the day he'd been looking forward to for the past ten years of his life.

The day when he would finally meet his mentor: the one who would take him from the totally average magic-user he was today and turn him into a super-powered, incredible, expert mage.

It would be nice if his mentor wasn't hiding in the middle of a swamp, though. Headmaster Roma had gone through the process of finding a mentor in one of his 'Introduction to Advanced Magic' lectures. The main thing to remember, he'd said, was that _you_ didn't find your mentor. Your mentor found _you! _You'd get a vague _feeling _that would usually lead you toward them, but it was ultimately up to them to reveal themselves. Some people (his brother) got lucky and would be sitting in the cafeteria when _poof_, a flaming ball of light would appear in front of them and announce 'I am your new mentor; now give me those French fries'.

Alfred had brought some French fries with him, just in case. Although he wasn't sure that they'd be any good after this swamp trek.

He'd been insanely excited this morning; he'd just turned sixteen yesterday and everyone knew that you were destined to meet your mentor with a couple days of your sixteenth birthday. So when he'd felt that twinge in his head, like someone had whispered 'go to the marsh behind the stables' in his ear, he'd immediately jumped out of his seat in the middle of class, gave a war-whoop, and ran out without a second thought.

Now he was starting to feel that excitement wane a tiny bit as he glanced up toward the rapidly darkening sky. Everyone knew that all sorts of night-loving monsters lived in the swamps and forests surrounding the school.

"Yo, um, is anybody out here?" he called, wrapping his arms around himself as he searched the surrounding trees for any signs of life. "My name's Alfred Jones. I'm supposed to be meeting my mentor?"

"Your mentor is still trying to decide whether they want to meet you, however. Has anyone ever told you that your haircut is absolutely atrocious from above?"

Alfred just barely managed to keep from falling onto his ass as he jumped in surprise. He spun around and then hurriedly lifted his head toward the sky. And met the eyes of a man sitting high above him, sitting on a branch that didn't look like it should be able to support his weight.

The man's eyebrows rose, as if asking what the problem was and then he stood, the branch not even bending beneath him. "So, _you_ are the infamous Alfred F. Jones. And you consider yourself to be worthy to be taught by _me__,_ the god of this land?"

"Yeah!" Alfred dug in his pockets and pulled out a handful of slightly-squished French fries. "I brought some French fries!"

The god stared at him for a long moment and then Alfred was knocked off balance as something beneath his feet shifted. He fought to keep himself upright, his arms flailing, but something else moved underfoot and he splashed down in the filthy water.

"Dude!" He spluttered as the god took a step off the branch and _slowly _levitated toward the ground. "You could just _say_ you don't like French fries."

"You're an arrogant twat." He landed beside Alfred and the water actually parted around his feet as he stepped forward and then leaned right into his face. "The only reason I've agreed to teach one of you stupid, hormonal _humans _is because it's the only way to make sure you learn to actually respect our earth and your magic."

Alfred grinned. You know, from this distance he could actually tell that the god was pretty cute. Just look past the grouchy exterior. "And because you and I have an undeniable bond that can never be broken! We learned about the bond between mage and their mentor spirit in Advanced Magic." He thrust out his now filth-covered hand. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service. And what's your name?"

The god's scowl just deepened and then he sniffed and took a few steps away. "My true identity is beyond your human comprehension. You may call me Arthur."

An appropriately stuffy name for a stuffy god. "Great." Alfred pushed himself out of the muck and then pointed toward the god and sent him one of his famous hero grins. "Wait 'til I show you what I'm made of. Someday I'm gonna be the most amazing mage this world has ever seen. You aren't gonna regret being _my _mentor."

He thought he caught a glimpse of a tiny grin before it disappeared behind the usual scowl. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. "We'll see about that, Alfred Jones."


	11. June 11, 2014

June 11th, 2014 - Head Over Heels

**AUTHOR: **Zeplerfer

**June 11th, 2014 -** **Head Over Heels**

"I don't know how you deal with these guys," Alfred said in disgust as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading Arthur's latest story about the mutant registry bill.

"It's a skill," Arthur remarked, sipping his tea while he skimmed the article in front of him. His breakfast table was covered in newspapers, and most were filled with bad news. The registry bill was close to passing, backed by significant popular support. Arthur hated doing interviews with the hypocritical bigots who supported it, but no matter how angry he felt inside, he had learned to hide his outrage. A reporter couldn't afford to appear biased.

"_Idiots__._" Alfred tossed the newspaper back onto the table. The line of anger in his jaw relaxed as he took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's nothing wrong with your article, Art. Just wish you didn't have to write it."

"One of the dangers of the profession, I'm afraid," Arthur said with a shrug. "They don't hand out Pulitzers for fluff pieces about kind strangers who help grannies walk across the street."

Alfred blushed. "Look, I said I was sorry for being late! It's just, her walker was caught in a pothole and the cars were honking…"

"It's okay, love. Don't apologize for who you are."

"Yeah." Alfred gave Arthur a thoughtful look. "You know, what if…" he trailed off.

Arthur could hear the thoughts whirling in Alfred's head. They had been avoiding the elephant in the room for some time. The fact was, they were both mutants keeping their powers secret from the world and each other. It hadn't been a problem at first because Arthur never expected their relationship to pass the two-month mark. Now, at six months together, he was caught in a dilemma. He _wanted_ to tell Alfred about his telepathy, but if he did, he would have to admit that he had known about Alfred's super-strength the entire time and said nothing. And he wasn't sure how Alfred would react to learning that none of his thoughts were secret.

Unaware of Arthur's thoughts, Alfred took a deep breath and continued, "What if you found a super who was willing to go public?"

Arthur was used to people _thinking_ before they spoke, so it always took him by surprise when Alfred just blurted out ideas. At least it helped keep their relationship fresh and interesting. "Well, I think that it would help change the debate," he carefully replied. "But it would be a lot of risk for one person to take."

"I might have someone in mind." Alfred leaned forward, his eyes glittering with excitement and worry. "_Shit, is now the right time? I hope he doesn't freak out__._"

"Perhaps someone who helps grannies cross the street and also rescues people from collapsed buildings with his super strength?"

Alfred's mouth dropped open. "How did you know?"

Arthur glanced out the window into his small backyard garden as he added a slice of lemon to his morning tea. He had fretted over this moment for months, and now he didn't know what to say. The truth, he supposed. "It's hard to be surprised when you can read minds," he explained.

"Whoa," Alfred breathed. "_Hey, if you can read my mind, bring me another cup of coffee__._"

Responding to Alfred's unspoken thoughts, Arthur snorted and wheeled over to the counter. He reached for the coffee pot and brought it back to the kitchen table. "You know, super strength doesn't excuse you from saying please," he added tartly as he filled up Alfred's mug.

"Sorry, darling," Alfred replied, taking a sip of coffee as he gave Arthur an intrigued look. "No wonder you're such a good lover," he blurted out.

"Well, er, yes… that's one benefit of telepathy."

"Huh. And is this how you get the scoop for all your stories?"

Arthur nodded. "Sometimes, though I always make sure that I have actual evidence to back it up. But it helps me go to the right person and ask the right questions." He added ruefully, "I'm sorry for keeping it a secret. It's just that… I'm so used to hiding."

"I know what you mean," Alfred agreed. He reached across the table and clasped Arthur's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Alfred was always so very gentle with him. Arthur had gotten upset at boyfriends who treated him like a porcelain doll just because of his paralyzed legs, but he understood why Alfred was worried about hurting him. "I want to help you stop this."

"Thank you for your trust, love. But you should spend some time thinking about it first. There will be repercussions."

"I know." Alfred held Arthur's gaze, and his thoughts brimmed with love and confidence. "_I love you, Artie. I don't need time to think about doing the right thing__._"

Feeling a surge of affection, Arthur gave Alfred a soft smile. "That's why I love you."

The tender mood lasted for a few moments before Alfred chuckled and returned to his teasing ways. "And here I thought you loved me for my charm and good looks!"

"Those too," Arthur agreed. "Though I must admit, it's going to be a little awkward to do a story on my own boyfriend," he added wryly.

Alfred responded with his trademark grin. "Hey, look on the bright side. You might finally get the Pulitzer for a story about a guy who rescues kittens from trees."


	12. June 12th, 2014

June 12th, 2014 - The Spirit of McDonalds

**AUTHOR:** dragons-dumpling

**June 12th, 2014 - The Spirit of McDonalds**

America has heard the call of his fellow nations and decided to give this idea a shot. Almost all of the countries know of the American's man-crush on a certain English nation, but he can't help it. When he first felt this way back when he was a colony, he brushed it off as a platonic crush, mere child's behavior. He didn't expect those feelings to come back and bite him in the ass.

The American had confronted the countries (not including the person he was confessing about, that would be embarrassing) about his issue and they all pitched in some ideas on how to win the other nation's heart in America's favor. France advised America to take the Brit to a restaurant they both loved. Problem is, America doesn't know where to go that would appeal to both of their taste buds. And so, this is the situation he ended up in.

"Where are we going?" England asked as they got pulled into the small parking lot. "McDonalds?" he guessed.

"Yup! Nothing like the spirit of American cuisine!" America replied. On the outside, the American looked confident in his choice of location to eat but he was panicking. 'What if he hates it? He's come here thousands of times and sneered at it!' He sighed in defeat as they both went to the counter to order.

America placed his order but was surprised when England pitched in and bought a burger as well. After the waiting and receiving of their food, they both found a vacant booth to sit in. All his worries came to an end when he unwrapped that delicious hamburger and began to eat his problems away.

Out of the corner of his eye, America faced a phenomenon that he never thought would happen. England was eating a hamburger as well. And the Brit seemed as if he enjoyed it.

"I never knew you liked this stuff, Iggy!" he cried out in amazement.

Said man became flustered at his comment and denied it with excuses such as "It's a very popular fast food chain!" or "My people like this stuff so I have no choice!" But that didn't stop the American from breaking out a grin.


	13. June 13th, 2014

June 13th, 2014 - Tinder

**ARTIST: **theawesomehero

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**June 13th, 2014 - Tinder  
**

Arthur only downloaded the Tinder dating app because his flatmate, Francis, was addicted to it. It wasn't because Arthur was curious, he simply had to try it out for himself just so he could understand what Francis was always talking about.

The concept was simple enough. You specified the age range and gender you were interested in, and Tinder would find matches for you based on the distance within which you wanted to search. Once it had found some appropriate people, the app would show you someone's profile: a few pictures and a short description, and any mutual interests and friends you shared on Facebook. If you weren't interested, you swiped their picture to the left and the profile would disappear forever. If you liked them, swipe them to the right. Eventually they'd see your profile in their collection of matches. If they happened to swipe your picture to the right as well, it would announce that you were a match, and a conversation would be opened. Since a mutual attraction had already been established, there was no need to wonder if the other person liked you back. You could have a chat on the app and then decide if you wanted to organise a date in person.

Of course, Arthur didn't intend to use the app to meet anyone, he just wanted to have a look. To test the app, he decided to look for men between the ages of 18 and 28, within 50 miles of his flat in London.

And Tinder delivered.

Arthur was actually stunned at the results. The men on Tinder were bloody gorgeous! Thank God for living in London! In such a big, bustling city he had a very nice collection of profile pictures to look through: showing handsome, well-travelled, accomplished young men from all over the world who were living in his area and looking to meet someone. It was such an incredible collection of handsome single men that Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to uninstall the programme once he'd finished figuring it out. It seemed a shame to waste such a treasure trove of opportunity.

Not that he planned to use it to meet anyone.

First off, although Tinder had become a viable dating app recently, it seemed to have started its life as a way to find quick hook ups. And although many men's profiles claimed they were "looking for love," Arthur didn't feel comfortable pursuing a relationship through Tinder. What if he went out to meet someone and they expected more than he was willing to offer on a first date?

But more importantly…these men were just too handsome. They would never go for someone like Arthur, and he didn't want to show any interest when he would get none in return. He could swipe a thousand of these men to the right, and get no matches in return. It would be humiliating and soul crushing, and he didn't want to put himself through it.

So Arthur spent a few days scrolling the profiles Tinder provided for him. He was shown some of the most attractive men he'd ever seen, and yet he swiped them all to the left, to save his own pride. They wouldn't have been interested in him anyway.

But then one day Tinder showed him a new face, and Arthur just couldn't bring himself to send it away into the ether. The person's name was Alfred, he and Arthur both liked David Bowie, and his profile showed him and Mickey Mouse outside Disneyland California. And that was all Arthur knew about him.

Also, he was the most beautiful man Arthur had ever seen.

It wasn't simply that he was handsome (though he was plenty of that) – there was just something about the blonde hair, blue eyes, and bright genuine smile that made Arthur desperate. He _ached_ to know this man.

But he still didn't dare swipe him to the right. If he did, and when he got nothing in return…Arthur was sure he would break. He felt like he needed to have this man in his life somehow (as ridiculous and creepy as it sounded) and when the man didn't feel the same way, Arthur would be left empty and incomplete.

Arthur left the Tinder app untouched for seven days. He couldn't move on to the next profile until he had decided to swipe Alfred left or right, and he didn't dare do either.

But then one night he was gazing longingly at Alfred's face on his phone screen (as he had been wont to do during the past week) when the device was suddenly whisked out of his hand.

"Honhonhonhon! Arthur, I didn't know you had Tinder!" Francis smirked at him, victoriously. Arthur could only sit there frozen in shock, his face turning slowly purple. "Looking for a quick hook up? You dirty boy!"

"You had Tinder first! You're the dirty one!" Arthur countered quickly.

"I know, I never denied that. But you on the other hand, always pretending to be a gentleman…Anyway, who is this 'Alfred?'" Arthur jumped in his seat, and Francis's eyes flashed mischievously at the reaction. Oh, he could have some fun with this.

"Let's see," the Frenchman drawled slowly, tilting his head as if to examine Alfred's photo critically. "Do we swipe him left or right? If you have to sit there and _think_ about it there's obviously no real attraction. I'll swipe him left for you." He hovered a finger over the screen, and even though Arthur knew this was just a ruse to rile him up, he couldn't help but react.

"Don't you _dare_! Give it here!"

He grabbed his phone from Francis and swiped Alfred purposefully to the right. He looked up instantly to rant at his flatmate about touching other people's property, but Francis was pointing at his phone with a wide grin on his face.

"You have an instant match, Arthur."

Arthur's mouth hung open for a second, confused. Then he glanced down at his phone to see something he'd never seen before.

He had a match on Tinder.

Alfred had liked him back.

Alfred had liked him _first._

And suddenly a chat box was opening and a messaged appeared. Alfred must be on his phone checking Tinder right now, and sent Arthur a message as soon as the match came through.

"_Hey Arthur! Its great to meet you! I was afraid you wouldn't swipe me back! I swiped you like a week ago and then got nothing in return. :'( I thought you weren't interested and I was really sad. But I'm so glad you swiped me today! I've been really hoping to talk to you_."

As Arthur was reading, another message came through, and finally a third.

"_Urgh sorry! I hope that didn't sound too weird! I knew I would say something dumb even though I've been trying to plan what to write to sound all cool. I just really liked your profile and was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you._"

"_I hope I'm not being too forward! I know –_ "

Arthur stopped reading to look up from his phone and stared, dumbstruck, at Francis.

"He likes me back…" he said slowly, disbelieving.

"So it would seem," he smiled, happy for his friend even if Arthur was being more oblivious than usual. "Why don't you send him a reply? He seems very eager to talk to you, don't leave him waiting."

"O-of course!" Arthur turned his attention back to his phone, eyes bright and cheeks rosy like an excited child. He walked off to his room, typing frantically the whole way and only narrowly avoiding walking into a few walls.

Francis smiled to himself, leaving Arthur alone to fall in love in peace tonight, but planning a barrage of teasing for the morning.

(He ended up having particularly good fodder when he found out Arthur slept with Alfred on the first date, and he could taunt him about using Tinder for a casual hook up like the dirty boy Francis had always said he was.)

(He would also bring that up at Alfred and Arthur's wedding six months later, but the happy couple was too blissful to care about Francis' antics on that particular day.)


	14. June 14th, 2014

June 14th, 2014 - Not A Pirate

**AUTHOR: **vow-anon

**June 14th, 2014** **- Not A Pirate**

Arthur Ignatius Kirkland is not a pirate; he is a perfectly respectable and legitimate businessman, with a vessel duly registered with Her Majesty's portyard authorities as the Unicorn. The young captain handles legal, if exotic, cargo; he pays the correct taxes and fees, and hires professional liasions in every country to ensure they are correct (and as low as possible). At least, he ensures that no one can prove any differently.

Being a legitimate businessman brings its own set of troubles, of course. Sometimes Arthur thinks he would prefer going fully outlaw and facing down the full might of the royal navy rather than having to endure another inane garden party, or another twittering society matron thrusting her equally twittery unmarried daughter at him. Or having to grit his teeth and force a pleasant smile at fat old bankers who harrumph at him and treat him as if he hadn't yet reached his majority. Or having to sit and make insipid, useless conversation with drunk-sodden fops and empty-headed belles at dinner parties, always placed next to the most annoying guests because he's single and young, but needs to keep his business contacts sweet.

Contemplating their deaths under his cutlass, which is of course never on him in "civilized" company, is sweet and helps him get through some of the worse moments. But it would probably not be as helpful as getting a wife, so as to appear more mature and socially acceptable.

Arthur is, as his old schoolmate Bonnefoy often lamented, the furthest thing from romantic. He does not believe in love. He does not believe in romance. He does not even tolerate lust - it's an unacceptable distraction, an overwhelming weakness. He's seen his father fall from grace because of love - for a married woman. He's seen his mother die of a broken heart, for a man who does not in the least deserve it. He's seen his brothers squander what little inheritance they had been given on women, only to be left bereft and broken once the money ran out. In the meanwhile, he has played smart, avoided entanglements, and stolidly climbed the societal class ladder as far as he could.

Accordingly, to ease his way further up, he arranges a marriage. He is aware he requires a decent-looking lady of gentle breeding, well-trained in etiquette, in order to have the effect he desires; and also that he is not quite enough of a catch - yet - to attract many offers from the class of lady he requires. He decides he will take a wife from one of the better families of Boston, where his status as native-born Briton will aid him in his quest; he finds that New World society is almost as stultifyingly boring as Old World, so if the girl is intelligent enough she should be able to fit in with the necessary crowds quite well.

Accordingly, he entrusts his lawyer in Boston with the task; the man is competent and efficient, so within a short while Arthur has a list of possibilities. After consulting with his lawyer and a meeting with the patriarch in question, he settles on Amelia Jones. Her parents are of good stock, themselves born on British soil; they are wealthy planters, running a profitable and neat plantation near the river. Better still, they are eager for anything that will raise their status in the eyes of their peers, and a dashing, succesful British son-in-law will do the trick quite nicely. Arthur will not only walk away from this with a suitable wife, but with a more robust-looking bank account and several bales of valuable goods to carry over the ocean.

The girl herself, his lawyer reports, has something of a reputation as a scholar, spending a lot of time holed up in her room, reading, and having earned excellent marks at the private girls' school her parents had sent her. She is quietly welcome at many of Boston's best homes, and would - or so his lawyer, a Boston local born and bred himself, says - be popular if she were more outgoing, and attended more parties.

(Later, he will discover how wildly inaccurate this description is of Amelia - and how mistaken all of Boston, including her parents, had been.)

Arthur is coolly pleased; the girl, and her easy-to-negotiate-with family, sounds made to order. The necessary paperwork and arrangements are finished with gratifying swiftness, and Arthur soon finds himself in the Jones' foyer, dressed in his best suit, waiting to meet his soon-to-be wife.

Then all his well-made, perfectly-executed plans get thrown out the window when Amelia descends the staircase with a blank expression, and Arthur falls immediately, deeply, and shatteringly in love with the girl.


	15. June 15th, 2014

June 15th, 2014 - Prairie Rose

**ARTIST:** alfiewithfries

**AUTHOR: **Anonymous

**June 15th, 2014 - Prairie Rose**

Alfred dashed to the top of the hill and gasped in excitement at the panorama. Gently waving grass and colorful wildflowers spread out for miles in every direction beneath fluffy white clouds and a bright blue sky. He didn't know why they had ever called it the Great American Desert; it looked like paradise to him.

He fidgeted and waited impatiently while another young man climbed the hill behind him at a more sedate pace. Despite his wealthy upbringing, Arthur looked completely at ease in the wild fields. He held his hat in one hand, letting the wind play with his messy locks.

"Have you ever seen anything so marvelous?" Alfred asked, smiling brightly as soon as Arthur reached the top of the hill. "Three hundred twenty acres. And it's all ours!"

"Technically, one hundred and sixty acres each, and the deed isn't official until we've lived here for five years," Arthur reminded him. With his better head for letters and numbers, he had been the one to fill out the applications in the land office.

Alfred waved away the technicalities. "I think we'll have to make do with a sod house at first, but I'll build us a log cabin once we've got the proper timber." He smiled at Arthur. "We can have some rose bushes near the house and a chicken coop. There's a stream up yonder to water the cattle and hogs. And good soil for crops and a garden."

"It sounds as if it won't take you but a few years to recreate my father's estate."

"Not quite so many cattle and sheep," Alfred said with a chuckle. "Or farm boys."

Arthur returned Alfred's grin with a gentle smile of his own. "I have the only farm boy I could ever need," he said, leaning in to give Alfred a gentle kiss on the lips.

They spent the day building a temporary shelter and storing their supplies. It was hard, back-breaking work, but Alfred had never felt more content as he curled up next to Arthur. They watched the sun set on their beautiful farmland. The dusky pinks and reds darkened to purple as they basked in the gentle warmth of a midsummer's night.

"We'll need to head into town tomorrow for more supplies," Alfred said with a yawn. "I wonder if they'll have roses."

"I just hope they have tea."

Alfred gave Arthur a puzzled glance. "I thought that you enjoyed roses more than tea? You were always slipping away from the tea parties to spend time in the rose garden."

"It was a bit more complicated than that," Arthur replied with a chuckle. "They may have served tea and sandwiches, but beneath the surface, those were hunting parties that my mother set up for eligible young ladies. And I was their prey."

"And here I thought you visited the rose gardens to spend time with me," Alfred teased.

Arthur blushed. "Well, yes, after the first visit, that was my intent."

Alfred turned his head and kissed Arthur, remembering their first shared kiss amongst the rose bushes. After months of longing glances, it had been a revelation. He was even more tickled to learn that Arthur had wooed him while he was supposed to be courting young ladies instead. They shared kisses beneath the starry sky and, wrapped together in a single bedroll, fell asleep in utter contentment.

The next day, they did find tea, but no roses. With their new supplies and weeks of hard labor, they began shaping their plot of land into a farm with livestock and budding crops. The sod house was cramped and damp, but Alfred didn't care. It was _theirs_. There was no one to tell them that two men couldn't love each other, or say that a servant boy couldn't woo the young lord of the manor. He just wished that he could give Arthur a little taste of the wealthy life he had left behind when he ran away with his American lover.

Though Alfred looked at mail catalogs and asked around, everyone thought his quest for a rose shrub was silly at best. But he didn't give up. In the end, he found what he was looking for by accident as he led the cattle to the stream. One cow stopped to munch on a plant, and Alfred noticed a pink flower near the cow's hooves. He bent down to examine the flower. It had a pretty pink flower, thorns, and a lovely fragrance. He grinned.

"Arthur!" he shouted. "Arthur, come here!"

The Englishman ran across the field, his look of concern turning to an expression of confusion when he saw Alfred's excited grin.

"Do you know what this is?" Alfred asked, pointing to the flower.

Pursing his lips, Arthur bent down and examined the plant. He sniffed the delicate fragrance and sighed happily. "Why, I do believe this is a member of the _rosa_ family."

Alfred jumped in delight. "It's a rose?"

"That's right. A wild one."

"Good job, Bess," Alfred said, patting the cow.

Arthur set about transplanting the prairie rose and soon located a few others to add to his little wild rose garden. Alfred thought it was the perfect addition to their sod house, especially when Arthur learned to brew the petals into a fragrant tea.

Within five years, they had a thriving farm, the deed to the land, a sturdy log cabin, and the loveliest garden of prairies roses anyone had ever seen.

Yes, Alfred decided, this was paradise.


	16. June 16th, 2014

June 16th, 2014

**AUTHOR: **qichi

**June 16th, 2014 **

Alfred clattered into Arthur's house, soaked but laughing. His hair (and his _clothes_) were totally stuck to his body; it was the _worst__._ "I'm sorry," he yelled out by way of greeting, "Arthuuuur! I jinxed it!"

"So you did," Arthur sighed, but Alfred had become an expert of Arthur's faces and gestures by now and he caught the slight upward tick of the corner of his mouth and the subtle lilt in his tone and knew not to be worried. "That's the last time I let you _make__,_" he started, crossing the distance between them to accept the (thankfully saran-wrapped) bowl of food Alfred was holding out, "or _talk about_ our plans. At all."

"At all?" Alfred laughed, peeling out of his shirt. He felt a quick flash of excited pride thinking that maybe Arthur was checking him out.

After a pause, Arthur nodded. "At _all_. This is the third time in a row you've gone and jinxed things," he reminded him, "from now on I'm just dragging you off places and not telling you anything about it until we get there."

When Arthur turned to place the contents of the bowl - potato salad! - in the oven for quick reheating, Alfred… Alfred watched him go.

Dang, but he wished Arthur was the one with his jeans plastered flat against his ass.

"I'm gonna shower real quick," he said, immediately bounding down the hall to the bathroom. He was run through with freezing rain and felt about ten seconds from getting pneumonia. All he did was put the hot water on blast and stand under it for three, four minutes before getting back out and wrapping himself in a warm towel and slipping into Arthur's nice fuzzy bunny slippers (which he'd gotten for him last Valentine's Day).

He walked into the kitchen like that, sitting at a chair and fondly watching Arthur beetle around from oven door to egg timer to pantry. Arthur was no professional chef, but he sure knew how to make all that kind of familiar, home-y food that filled you up.

Which was, y'know, what you wanted in a picnic, except… not so much when it was 50 degrees and the middle of a massive, terrifying thunderstorm.

"Get _dressed_," Arthur snarled, threatening Alfred with a demanding wave of a watermelon slice. "We're not having lunch with you sitting around half-naked. And go dry off."

"Can I be naked later?"

Again, Arthur turned back, glaring so hard Alfred just immediately stood, hands raised in innocence, and went to go change into something out of Arthur's closet. Well. They'd be dating long enough that Alfred kept a couple outfits over here, but if was a lot more fun to come back out in one of Arthur's old ratty band shirts, smelling like whiskey and _boyfriend_.

And - again - Arthur sighed.

But after he sighed he piled their table high with the results of their failed plan for a Christmas date. Watermelon in cubes, sandwiches curled into spirals, Alfred's potato salad, little mini hot dogs, lemonade… all they were missing was actually being outside. But, hey, there were bugs outside, and Arthur was in here. Alfred couldn't be disappointed if he tried to be.

"Eat," Arthur demanded, his voice all harsh but he had a big, huge smile on his face, and as much as Alfred had gotten used to Arthur's faces and gestures, you really didn't have to know anything about him at all to see how happy he was, too.


	17. June 17th, 2014

June 17th, 2014

** AUTHOR: **hoshiko2

**June 17th, 2014**

Alfred loved when buses stopped by in his little town. He'd watch the tourists file off the bus, file into his shop to the bathroom or down an aisle to find a snack, file up to his counter, and then file right back onto the bus and leave. Alfred would sometimes catch where they were from or where they were headed. It was always different. Alfred always wondered what it would be like to get on a bus and go somewhere, but he knew he'd never leave his small town.

Suddenly, Alfred was startled out of his thoughts by the appearance of a blond man who approached the counter. He was just slightly shorter than Alfred, but the way he curved his shoulders in, kept his head bent, and his eyes downcast made him seem even smaller. He didn't say anything, but his eyes flickered from the counter to the small coffee pot just off to the side.

"Hiya," Alfred chirped. The man before him snapped his head up in surprise. He flashed brilliant green eyes. Alfred inhaled sharply. "Um… What can I get ya?"

"Um…a soda is just fine," the man replied with a muffled English accent.

"Hokay, er… What kind? We gots tons."

The man fidgeted. He looked around and toyed with his watch without looking at it. Alfred watched him curiously, and then glanced at the coffee pot.

"I also have coffee or tea…," Alfred offered.

Almost instantly, the man's shoulders dropped and he stood a little straighter. He smiled softly. Alfred inhaled sharply again. "Oh, that'd be lovely. I haven't had a cuppa in a while. Yes, please."

"Hot? Cold?" Alfred reached under the counter and pulled up a small basket full of a variety of tea bags.

"Hot, please." Again, the man looked around cautiously. His smile was gone. He thumbed through the selections at a slow pace.

Alfred watched with rapt attention at the way the man's slender fingers moved. He licked his lips. Then, he moved around the counter with a smile as another customer approached him. "How can I help you?"

It was a short while later that Alfred returned. The Englishman was still making his selection, stuck in inertia. Alfred pulled a Styrofoam cup from near the coffee pot and filled it with hot water, and then placed it next to the basket. "Made your choice?"

The man's fingers suddenly closed over the top of a random tea bag, and then pulled it and his head up. "Yes. This will do just nicely."

"Cool." Alfred ripped open the bag and dropped it into the cup. He glanced out the window as he rung up the Englishman's purchase. He smiled to himself. "So, where are you from? Other than England, I mean."

"Up north," the man replied. He picked up the cup and smelled the tea.

"Ah." Alfred rocked on his heels. "Gee, there are a lot of places up north, you know."

The man smiled into his cup. "Manhattan."

"Oh!" Alfred smiled broadly. "I used to live there too! We're city buddies, then!"

The man gave a nervous laugh, but said nothing to encourage the conversation to continue. Alfred bit his lip again, watching how the man blew on his hot tea, and then tentatively took a sip. Alfred's eyes followed how the man's lips pursed, testing the temperature before slurping in a small amount.

"My name's Alfred Jones," Alfred said quickly. He stuck his hand out for the man to shake.

The man glanced up at Alfred, and then gave a firm shake in return. "Arthur. Do you normally introduce yourself to those that're just passing through?"

"Well, seein' as your bus left two minutes ago, I don't think you're 'just passing through'." Arthur looked out the window with wide eyes. There was no big, blue and white bus as there had been previously. Arthur sighed, almost in relief, and then took a bigger sip of his drink. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"N-no… I um…"

"Didn't want to go to your destination?" Alfred supplied. Arthur sipped his tea again. "Wanna go to a better one?"

"Perhaps," Arthur mused, his eyes downcast again.

"Well, until that bus comes, do you have a place to stay?"

Arthur looked out the window. "I was going to say at an inn or a motel or something."

"Well, we don't have one of those. People don't really stay unless it's for good." Alfred flashed Arthur a smile.

Arthur clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, looking away without noticing. His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I hadn't thought of that…"

"Well…" Alfred licked his lips again. "You could stay at my place. I have an extra room. It'd be just until you find which bus you wanna take."

Arthur was silent for a moment. He stared at his tea in contemplation. Then, his green eyes looked up to Alfred. Alfred smiled slightly.

"I can't pay you…"

"That's okay. We'll find a way."

"No one's this nice…"

"I'm not no one. I'm me." Alfred's smile grew impossibly wide as he surged with confidence at the fact that Arthur was even considering his offer.

"Yes… I see that."

"Plus, people in small town America are different. We look out for each other out here, but we keep to ourselves, mostly."

"How…chivalrous."

"It's what America's really about." Alfred suddenly grew serious. He leaned over the counter and pushed into Arthur's view. The Englishman stared at him sternly. "But…you're not in any kind of trouble, are you?"

"Asking questions? You just said you keep to yourselves."

"I'm not so stupid to let some serial killer into my house."

Arthur breathed a laugh as his face lit up into a smile. "I'm not running from the authorities if that's what you're worried about."

Alfred smiled wider until his cheeks hurt and his face was slightly flushed. He stood upright and laughed. "Great! Welcome to our little town!"


	18. June 18th, 2014

June 18th, 2014

**AUTHOR: **angie garcia

**June 18th, 2014**

Arthur looked around and sighed. He was all alone in the grand ball room. The guest had left hours ago, for he had thrown a enormous party in honor of his birthday, but he had stayed to dance the rest of the night away with the stars.

He walked to the balcony ready to begin his ballad. The moonlight lit up the balcony, providing a clear shimmery view of the pond a few yards away.

As he turned to face the night sky, he was taken aback by a tall, cloaked figure who wore a masquerade mask. His eyes were a light icey blue that shone brighter than the stars. Walking on the balcony's series of marble baluster, he eyed Arthur in a pleased way.

The blue eyed man smiled and whispered,

"Happy Birthday, my rose. Anything you wish for me to do on this glorious night?"

Arthur stood back in shock. Regaining his posture he sighed and harshly whispered,

"Nothing at all, Alfred. Please leave and let me dance to my heart's content."

Alfred frowned and simply replied,

"My dear Arthur, escape with me and no longer will you have to dance with the stars, but with me. Forever and always. Why must you always torture yourself, night after night, on this starlit balcony? Surely I could make you feel better."

Arthur leaned against the balcony and looked in to the masked man's eyes.

"But the stars are always there for me. They always are found in the night sky. They have never left like any of my past lovers." Arthur argued, memories of exes who helped increase the amount of times his heat suffered.

"But my dear, my love for you is found in every dark corner, every hidden rose, in every inch of my heart. Everywhere, unlike all those who caused you pain. I am the only one who truly would die for you. What must I do to prove to you, I will never cause or let harm fall upon you?" Alfred responded, slowly walking towards Arthur.

"Mend my heart of the heart brakes and torture it suffered."

"My dear I can not tighten the strings and hopes others have toyed with and loosen. But I can add new strings, add new hopes, and new dreams. I can add everything others have taken from you, and much more." Alfred whispered delicately, holding Arthur close to himself.

Arthur buried his face into Alfred's chest.

"Darling do not hide your precious face. It's beautiful. If you would let me, I would place delicate kisses on the pale surface." Alfred cooed.

Arthur walked towards the edge of the balcony, looking to the stars as if they held his future. Alfred stood in the dark corner, his mask the only thing visible

"Just say the words, my prince, and you will suffer no more."

Arthur took the promise to heart, not wanting to cry himself asleep each night, not wanting to wake up broken and feeling useless. He wanted to feel free and light. Looking at the cloaked wonder, he whispered,

"Take me away, Alfred. Take me away to paradise. I…I love you."

Alfred smiled and muttered,

"Perfect choice my love."

And with a flick of the wrist, Arthur and Alfred were gone, together in their happy place full of love and joy. Something Arthur always wanted.

Something only Alfred could give him.


	19. June 19th, 2014

June 19th, 2014 - In Hindsight

**AUTHOR: **kar-kar93

**June 19th, 2014 - In Hindsight**

It had been a peaceful night thus far, and Arthur had put Alfred to bed hours ago. The house couldn't have been quieter, much to Arthur's chagrin as he sat upon the parlour chair reading a book and sipping at a serving of tea. It had been a normal night, thus far, and Arthur couldn't have been more content.

Silence, however, is such fickle and elusive friend.

Tonight, sound didn't wait till morning to make itself known. Instead it awoke with a resounding shriek; the sound of a child screaming his name. The book hit the ground, the tea cup was discarded, and Arthur soon held a fretful Alfred in his arms.

"It's just a nightmare, love," he whispered, carding his hands through Alfred's hair, attempting to calm the boy down.

However, Arthur's antics didn't stop the child's sobbing, nor did it stop the repeated whisperings of an apology.

"Alfred?" He whispered, "What are you sorry for?"

"For hurting you, Artie!" Alfred wailed. "For making us break. For the rain that it brought to your face. I didn't mean to, Artie, I promise!"

"Oh my dear boy," Arthur chuckled lightheartedly. "You've done no such thing."

He smiled, pulling the boy into a hug.

"And you won't ever have to worry about your nightmares becoming real," he smiled into the boy's hair. "Do you know why, Alfred?"

"No Artie, why?" Alfred sniffled, wiping at his eyes.

"Because, dearest boy, I'll always be here to scare your demons away."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He smiled, tucking the boy back in. "Now go back to sleep love, I'll be here when you awake."

And in moments the young nation fell back to sleep.

It was a normal night, Arthur thought.

Sometimes though, even nations could be wrong.

* * *

Alfred had wanted to go fishing today, and that's what brought them to the harbour.

Arthur was in the middle of telling Alfred about the glories of the sea and the adventures the water brings when it happened.

"Hey Artie?" Alfred asked, eyes focused on the horizon.

"What is it Alfred?" Arthur responded.

"Do you think the fish would survive in a giant pot of tea?" he asked, provoking a bout of laughter from Arthur.

"I don't think they would, Alfred," he laughed.

"No?" He frowned. "Would they leave if we told them they'd drown in tea, then?"

"Alfred, love, I don't think the fish understand our tongue."

Alfred was tearing up then.

"But Artie!" he whined. "I don't want to hurt the fish! I don't want them to hate me too!"

Arthur stopped laughing then.

"Oh love," he whispered. "You don't have to worry about that. The harbour isn't made of tea, and no one in their right mind would hate you."

"Promise, Artie? Promise you won't hate me if I make the harbour into tea?"

Arthur laughed.

"I could never hate you Alfred," he smiled. "Even if you turned the ocean into tea."

They left Boston that night.

* * *

The final time this occurred was a little more abrupt.

They were in his study when it happened, and Alfred was trying to distract himself with one of the many trinkets Arthur returned with from overseas. The boy was fascinated with the stuff, always asking about his adventures, and eternally curious.

Arthur had taken to looking through some important paperwork when Alfred had diverted his attention to Arthur's ink well and the feathered quill pen. Without a seconds hesitation Alfred snatched the quill and began applying the ink to the top of his hand.

"Alfred that ink isn't going to come out very easily."

Arthur's comment was ignored.

Interest peaked, Arthur then asked, "Alfred? What are you drawing?"

And still, Alfred didn't respond.

Recognizing that his charge had no intention of responding, Arthur then decided to take a peak himself. His observation was simple; upon his hand, inscribed in ink, Alfred had drawn a simple ring of 13 stars.

"Thirteen stars?" Arthur questioned.

Not a moment after the words left his mouth Alfred's head shot up and he sent Arthur what could only be described as wary.

"No," Alfred whispered, "They're not stars. They are _my_ people. And when they bear this symbol they will _hate_ you. And so will I. And so will you."

About to respond, Arthur was interrupted.

"Arthur? Can we leave? I don't like your stuffy old study and," Alfred paused. "Hey, when did I draw stars on my hand?"

Arthur was dumfounded,

"Yeah?" he frowned. "Let's, go…uhhh…wash your hands first okay? Then we can…go play with your brother. Sound good?"

And though he tried, Arthur was unable to wash the stars off that night. Or the night after, but within a few days they had faded.

And within months, the promise of betrayal was forgotten for a little while more.

The feeling of dread, however, was something that he couldn't shake.

* * *

It wasn't until the 18th century that Arthur was able to connect those three memories to one common event. It wasn't until the 18th century that he finally understood- the tea, the stars, the hate- but it was too late. If he had recognized it sooner, maybe things would have been different.

It was exactly as Alfred had warned; the harbour did in fact house a tea party, the bloody stars adorned Alfred's _new_ flag as a symbol of _Alfred's _people and ultimately Arthur was abandoned to his own devices, hating himself for what he lost.

England was forced to relinquish control of America in 1783. Allowing the colony to become a country. However, there was only one thing that Arthur cared about, out of all the fighting and all the hate, and that was the fact that Arthur lost Alfred that century.

Arthur will tell you that it was in 1783 that England was left behind; hurting, tired and crying in the mud. He'll tell you how he was angry, how he hated and how he felt betrayed. What he doesn't tell you is that, despite the pain America's betrayal caused England, Arthur was proud.

Arthur was proud of America for taking what he wanted, because at that point, Arthur could care less about the politics between America and England the nations.

It no longer mattered that America wasn't his to control.

Instead, the only thing that mattered was that war had changed the way Arthur looked at Alfred. He could no longer see Alfred as his ward, he could no longer view Alfred as his little brother, and he could no longer look at Alfred as a child. Alfred had grown into a fine young man and Arthur was left there, that unfortunate day, with the grim understanding that time would eventually be able to heal all wounds.


	20. June 20th, 2014

June 20th, 2014 - Lake in the Forest

**AUTHOR: **snowyowlrose

**June 20th, 2014 - Lake in the Forest**

Alfred was lost. He had wandered off the beaten path when he had gone for a walk. It was strange just how far he must have gotten from the walking trail, it was just so different. The dusty ground seemed more covered with leaves and smelled more of damp foliage than anything else.

The fact he was lost didn't surprise him so the American decided to try and find a way to get out of there and back to the path. So when he heard a small trickle of water Alfred decided to follow it to the source. His sneaker ed feet walked along, eventually finding the small trickle of water which lead to a much larger lake. Though it seemed to take forever and a day to get there. Alfred smiled and walked to the edge of it. He was sweaty and wanted to splash some of the water on his face.

His honey colored locks were dripping slightly after that, the water felt nice and clean against his warm skin. His big blue eyes looked all that bigger without his glasses on. Alfred smiled at his clear reflection in the water, slightly sun burnt cheeks.

A small yelp came from the man as a second pair of eyes formed in the water, just behind his reflection. These eyes however were green, like some sort of seaweed or grass. Soon the face containing those eyes emerged from the water slowly.

The creature itself was stunning and strange. A human face looked at Alfred, large eyebrows tilted into a scowl, wet, blonde hair stuck up in tangled tuffs on the creatures head and strange webbing extended up through it from his ears. It's torso emerged, totally bare with long delicate yet strong looking arms crossed over his chest.

"Who are you?" It's voice sounded male and scratchy, almost like sandpaper. "What do you want here?"

"Hey," Alfred held his hands up in surrender. "I'm lost that's why I'm here. My names Alfred, what's yours?" He held out a hand to the lake spirit? Maybe.

"I'm Arthur, Guardian of this place, no _human _should be here." Okay so he was a little off.

"I don't even know how I got here!" Alfred defended simply. He did think it was cool that things like that existed.

"Well you need to leave. You don't belong here." Arthur growled out.

"Okay, I'll leave but I want to come back." At this Arthur balked, how brash of a human!

"No! You'll dirty this place with your litter like everywhere else."

"No I won't, Promise. I'll keep it a secret from everyone and not do anything to it. Plus there has to be a reason I got here." Alfred said hoping to convince the other to let him come back. The Guardian was cool and he wanted to talk more. Who wouldn't?

"No! There is only a few who are able to come here, you must have just gotten through by accident."

"So there is a reason I can come through!" Alfred said happily.

"Wh-a…!" Arthur spluttered but couldn't deny he might be the one to help the land… no he was a human and humans did no good.

Alfred laughed and sat up. He had to leave soon and get home. "I want to come back, maybe it wasn't a mistake."

With that Alfred left, leaving the promise hanging in the air. Arthur was sure the man wouldn't be able to get back in but he was proven wrong. Alfred kept coming back, bringing fruit and things for Arthur as peace offerings. Slowly and gradually Arthur warmed up to the other, he was so unsure about whether or not Alfred could help save him and his land now… One could only hope though.


	21. June 21st, 2014

June 21st, 2014 - He's All That I Got

**AUTHOR: **carriecmoney

**June 21st, 2014 - He's All That I Got**

It was a hot June day when Arthur first stumbled onto my porch, muddy ta'is eyelids and grass beneath them. I met'im with m'shotgun barrel in his hollow collar; he'd laughed at me with hollow eyes and asked me to shoot him, go ahead, he deserved it. But I didn'. I gave him some chili and an old pair of pants and let him sleep on the hearth, 'nstead.

He's been here 'bout a week now. I think. Days get blurry alone out here'n the ash forests of Colorado. He's not so muddy anymore, but the grass in his eyes has jus' grown longer and wilder. He won't tell me his story, won't tell me what a fella that sounds like him's doin' out here, but the longer he's here the more I don' wanna know. He stares out at the faraway mountains and recites poetry I've ne'er heard before, since I ne'er read much poetry in my schooling days that wadn't Scripture. He helps with the chores jus' fine, but sometimes he stops wit' the axe at his feet and he's jus' not _there._

But. He's got a good smile, the kind that'd make you dance wit'ta devil if he gave it to ya jus' right. He ain't got a last name anymor'n if I know if Arthur's really his first, but he's strong and calloused and he listens good. It's been too long since I'd seen anyone else, talked to anyone 'sides the trees and the larkspur. It's been nice, to laugh wit' someone to laugh back.

Tonight we're sittin' on the edge of my porch, feet in the dust and splitting coffee in my one tin cup, watchin' the sun set over my mountain view. He's talkin', talkin' about stars or forest fires or how to properly mine coal. I don't care. He's got a good voice, too. It'n tha' smile could twist me down below, and I'm worried it's already started.

He stops. Goes still. Turns his head to angle his ear to the southeast. "I should go." He makes t'jump down off the porch, but I snap out my hand and grip his elbow.

"Jus' like that? You'll up'n git without a word elsewise?"

Arthur smiles, a grin with a twinge. "It's better for you, this way."

"No." I stand to match him and grip both his elbows. Now I can hear what he's heard - horses, more than one, breakin' their ways through the ash trees. I don't care. His face shines gold as the September leaves, and I ain't 'bout to let that just _run away__._ "You ain't goin' nowhere. Not without me."

Arthur's grin falls, and his head falls with it. "No, you _can't_, you're too good for my life, I won't inflict it on you."

"I don't care what you'd done before." M'damned han is shakin' when I let go of his arm to tilt up his chin with a finger, but I need to see those eyes again. "I've been bored stiff before ya, and damn me'f I go back ta that."

Arthur smiles. "Well, if you're coming, we better start running, love."

I grin, and he grins. He takes the axe from the woodpile and I take the shotgun from the barrel on my porch, and I lead him up the deer paths behind my shack, leaving the coffee cup to steam and greet our visitors alone.


	22. June 22nd, 2014

June 22nd, 2014 - Until we are Free

**AUTHOR: **prussium

**June 22nd, 2014** - **Until we are Free**

"…Feel the music through movements. Cry with your body…"

I already regret giving dance class a try the second Arthur starts with his impossible instructions.

How am I supposed to cry with my body? My goddamn armpits are weeping, alright, but I haven't the slightest idea how to make the rest of me shed tears. Don't get me wrong, now, I've cried an awful lot before I landed in this place. I've probably done all sorts of crying and I still haven't gotten over it, to be honest.

It gets even worse when everyone – these people in loose shirts and colored tights sitting Indian style on the wooden floor – looks back at him with the same comprehending faces. I know this class will suck right from the start because I don't know how to dance at all (I've always been told I have two left feet and all). I bet I'll make a big fool out of myself and quit in the middle of it all and cry and cry until blood comes out of my eyes.

I look around, waiting for someone to question Arthur. When no one does, I take their silence as a lousy dare to sit my ass down and proceed despite my cluelessness and poorly inadequate skills. To hell with dancing.

Everyone knows everyone in here. I mean it. They don't just know your name and all that crap. They _know_ _why_ you're sent here too. There are no secrets in this place, I swear to God. I hate the fact that they keep asking personal questions because I'd rather not talk about myself.

I can't stop thinking about Arthur, though.

Like I said, everyone knows why he was sent here, and it keeps running through my head whenever I watch him dance. I only heard his story from the others; I never ask him about it. In fact, I barely talk to him at all, but he's the only reason I keep attending dance class.

There aren't any visitors who drop by and sign him out, but I rarely see him around. They tell me he spends most of his time at the dance room, so I try sneaking in. And there he is, dancing to himself.

I hide behind the door, to a blind spot of the mirror walls. Tinkling piano keys flutter in the air while a soft voice breezes loss and yearning. Arthur glides across the floor. He spins, leaps, and reaches out with unwavering precision and gracefulness, pouring all of himself to music and movements. Embracing the air and his own sorrow.

Watching him, I feel guilty for breaking into his solitude.

It's amazing how passionate emotions like sadness can drive people to do beautiful things, like how storms create a sense of unity among people upon its aftermath. I'm not saying I admire sadness, though, no. If you ever hear someone speak of beautiful sadness, don't believe them, for beautiful sadness does not exist. Art and real life are two different worlds and one shall not be confused as the other. They are separated by a barrier that people must not overstep, especially those who are not like us, who never felt the way we do.

Arthur slows to a stop as the music fades. He does it flawlessly that I find it hard not to burst into applause.

He catches me off-guard when he bends over the player and says, "I know you're there… Come out now."

I guess there's no escape. I come out of my hiding place and walk towards him.

"S-Sorry, I —"

He cuts me short as he assumes position. A familiar melody rings in my ear.

We've been dancing together since the day he asked each of us to get a partner. I was the only one left out, so he did the honor and took me to be his. Truth be told, I didn't expect him to have much patience with me (given my hopeless state), and he surprised me with such gentleness as he guided me throughout the piece. We also started talking more; I feel rewarded each time he flashed even just a small smile.

After countless repetitions, I've known this tune by heart in synch to the pattern of our routine. We hold each other, starting with his hand on my shoulder and mine on his waist. The mirror paints our fluid motions and shifting figures, showing our contours corresponding together. Arthur has molded his shape against mine, and I move accordingly to the angles and arches he traces for me. In between marching and leaping, I listen attentively to his quiet footsteps. Through the twirls and lifts, I feel his breath against my skin, happy to hold him in my arms.

We're now face to face, our noses almost touching, arms outstretched as if poised to fly. He once told me he's no good with words so he lets his movements speak for him. I'd like to think the same with his face as I read through those bright, sad eyes.

Sadness keeps us prisoners, and fighting to release ourselves from its dark confines is where beauty sets in. I think that's what Arthur is trying to tell me. He cries through movement and give his all to liberate himself from sadness. I try to follow his example, leaving negativity behind with each move, refusing to be weighed down as I fly away. I've never felt such control my entire life. I can do it, I know I can.

And if it is not too much to ask, I will dance with him and let our bodies cry together until we are free.


	23. June 23rd, 2014

June 23rd, 2014

**AUTHOR: **justa-fangirl

**June 23rd, 2014**

Alfred had always been very liberal with his personal information in his rise to stardom. Whenever he had an interview in a magazine or went on TV, he wanted to seem like a genuine human being – someone his fans could connect with because he didn't seem any different to the people watching the show at home. He may be Hollywood's newest golden boy (according to the articles, anyway) but he still felt like the Kansas farm boy he'd been as a kid.

So when TV chat show host Emma Peeters asked what time it read on his soul mate clock, Alfred had told her the truth.

"I'm meeting my soul mate on June 23rd, 2014. Sixteen hours, sixteen minutes and fifty-two seconds past midnight," he'd said with a brilliant smile on his face. He held up his hand proudly, showing off the simple clock face embedded into his wrist where the pulse beat firmly.

Emma checked her own watch hopefully, scowling theatrically when she realised her own time was not compatible. "Aww, I guess we're not soul mates then," she laughed. "But maybe one of your fans watching this interview has the same time on their clock! Lucky bastard!" Alfred laughed, blushing modestly, and they continued chatting about his latest movie, all talk of the soul mate clock forgotten.

But once they'd finished up the interview and the cameras were off, Emma turned to Alfred with a raised eyebrow, looking impressed. "You're very brave for revealing the time on your clock," she remarked. "Celebrities don't usually want to announce it in public."

"Why not?" asked Alfred, perplexed.

"Well, the celebrities who reveal their time in public usually end up in a huge mess," said the reporter, eyebrows scrunched in pity. "Anyone in the _world _who has the same time on their clock will come flocking, all fighting to try and be the first one you see so _they_ get the rich and famous soul mate. And then there's the stalker fans who come and hunt you down even if they have a different time on their clock! They're so obsessed with their favourite celebrity they don't care if they have the wrong time, they just want to be with you!" Emma leaned forward and added in a dark whisper, "Some of them even get their watches surgically removed or altered so the celebrity thinks they might be their real soul mate!"

Alfred was horrified, and a sense of dread settled over him as he realised what he might have let himself into.

But by the time he'd gotten home from the interview, he'd convinced himself that Emma's stories were just a scary myth. Maybe it had happened once or twice in the past when a fan who was _really_ insane had tried to cause trouble, but it couldn't _always_ be like that. And Alfred's fans were nice, normal people – he was sure none of them would try and force or trick him into thinking they were soul mates.

Of course, this was before Alfred had became an international superstar. By the time his clock was due to run down, he had an army of fans from around the world, of all levels of crazy. And as much as he appreciated their support, no matter how weird they could be, he definitely regretted announcing his clock's time.

Because people had started to camp outside his house in L.A. a good _two weeks_ before his clock ran out. They'd turned up with tents, sleeping in the street just to be near him, hoping to catch his eye when the time came. It got so bad that he'd had to fly out to his parents' house in the Kansas, yet they managed to track him down here, too!

In the end, his publicist Kiku had recommended that he escape somewhere unexpected, somewhere he had no ties at all so even the fans who knew his favourite hotels wouldn't be able to find him. He'd ended up in London, for no other reason than that it had been the first international flight he could snatch up.

And _still_ the fans had managed to find him!

On June 23rd, the day his clock would run out, Alfred woke up to find the hallway outside his hotel room _swarmed_ with fans. He knew they weren't trying to be threatening, but it was still intimidating being stalked by a whole crowd of hopeful soul mates, and he just couldn't face leaving the room. Not that he'd have been able to get too far: news of his hiding place must have spread online, and people were showing up from miles around to seek him out. The hotel was swamped, and nobody could get in or out.

It was 4:14, just two minutes away from the time Alfred was supposed to meet his soul mate, and all he could do was curl up on the bed and feel hope slipping away. He was trapped in his hotel room, and he'd never meet his one true love. What on earth would he do if he couldn't find his soul mate and they moved on without him?

A sharp knock hammered on Alfred's hotel door, and he groaned.

"Go away!" he called miserably, voice barely audible over the clamour outside his room.

"Mr. Jones? This is the police. If you'll open the door a crack I can pass you my badge."

Alfred jumped up and dashed to the door. Peering out the peep hole he saw a blurry blonde figure in a dark uniform, surrounded by moving figures all cramming to get close to the door in the hopes that Alfred would come out.

The actor opened the door the merest inch, and an authentic looking police badge was passed through the gap.

"We're clearing your hallway and are working on the rest of the floor," said the firm, deliciously English voice of the policeman. "It will take a while to vacate the lobby and the area outside, but we're working on it. I won't ask to come in, but if you feel threatened and would like any support inside the room, I'll be guarding your door."

"IT'S TIME!"

Suddenly the door swung open – still ajar from when Alfred had taken the police badge – and an impossible number of faces swam before him as a hoard of fans surged forwards.

But Alfred barely saw them, as his eyes flicked instantly to the surprised looking Englishman standing right in the centre of the crowd. The policeman's bright green eyes were wide with shock for a moment, taken aback by the screaming and shoving of the mob of fans, but he quickly recovered, turning his back on Alfred and throwing his arms out to keep the crowd at bay.

"Stay back! Have some decency!" he exclaimed angrily, as if personally insulted that they were being so impolite.

But the crowd had miraculously grown silent, still as a painting as every pair of eyes turned to Alfred as he peeled the dead clock off the skin of his wrist.

"Who is it?" someone whispered, and a murmur swept the crowd as everyone checked their own watches.

"What on earth – oh!"

Alfred looked up, eyes shining with hope and relief as the policeman folded back the sleeve of his jumper and a clock fell out on to the floor.

He stared at the white patch of skin on his wrist and then looked up to meet Alfred's gaze. "I…I don't believe – "

"How dare you!"

"You did this on purpose!"

"He's probably not even a real policeman!"

"He tricked Alfred!"

"Get him!"

Alfred saw the danger just in time, grabbing the policeman's arm and yanking him inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just in time to save the Englishman from the clutches of a furious mob of heartbroken fans.

"Sorry," he said, trying to sound sincere but barely able to keep the eager beam of excitement off his face. "They looked pretty annoyed. You'd better stay in here until your back up arrives."

The policeman blushed, eyes still gazing down, disbelievingly, at the empty space on his wrist where the clock had once been. "Yes…well…thank you, um…"

"Alfred. F. Jones."

The policeman finally looked up and their eyes met again.

"Arthur Kirkland. It's so good to meet you, Alfred." His eyes sparkled with a hope and anticipation Alfred was sure were mirrored in his own, as a slow smile spread on the Englishman's face. "Finally."


	24. June 24th, 2014

June 24th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** actualcanadian

**June 24th, 2014**

Arthur clung to each and every letter when it came. No matter what time of day, he would run to greet whoever knocked on his door, hoping that his love had finally come home. But day in, day out, the boy didn't arrive. Perhaps that's the reason why Arthur clung to the letters: it had finally fallen on his shoulders that the boy was gone. He'd never have his sweet man to cuddle with, the arms that comforted him when he felt miserable. He'd lost all of that in one fell swoop.

The first letter had arrived on a warm Monday morning in September, the leaves just starting to turn gold. It had been a week of miserable drinking, most of it spent alone in his room or throwing plates in the kitchen. Arthur had never felt this alone.

_November 18__th__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_It's my first day here and I bet you're super excited to get this letter, huh? _

_Well, nothing to report. We got here in France yesterday, ate baguettes and drank espressos. Espressos are terrible, though, Artie! Keep away from those. _

_Is it bad that I miss you already? Don't worry though; it's only two years. It might even be less if we can whip those Nazis back home. I bet we could do it before Christmas if we tried hard enough!_

_Just wait, I'll be back for Christmas._

_Your hero, _

_Alfred Jones_

Arthur remembered every moment of every letter, from the excitement of ripping open the envelope to the joys of reading Alfred's naïve words. He could distinctly remember where he was, what day it was, how he felt… Every letter was a treasure, and, now, every letter was all he had.

_November 19__th__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_The people in my squadron are super nice and my plane's a beauty. I wish you could see her! But I bet you see lots of them in the skies over London. Spitfires are amazing to fly, the way they run so smoothly. It's more like gliding than flying, really. Just really powerful gliding. Damn, you'd love it Arthur!_

_We're squadron number 121 which means most of the people are British in it. It also means they spell everything with extra u's. _

_Tomorrow the fun begins! We start the actual fighting tomorrow since we got through all the training yesterday and today. _

_We'll win soon. I know it. See you for Christmas!_

_Your hero, _

_Alfred Jones_

Letter upon letter, memory upon memory, one for every day between November and June. All of it fell on Arthurs chest, making it feel as tight as a prison cell as he read the letters, listening to the slow transformation of a naïve boy to a man who grew too quickly. He wondered what Alfred was truly like in his last days? Was he as old as he made himself sound in his letters?

_December 24__th__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_The people on the other side of the lines must celebrate Christmas too. I wonder if it hurts them being alone on the battlefield for Christmas as much as it hurts us. I sure do miss you. Sorry I let you down and didn't come home in time for Christmas. Next Christmas I'll be there, promise!_

_We lost a man today. His name was Gilbert and he was pretty damn great. Albino guy who almost got sent to a camp by his family. I felt bad for the guy. I mean, you live a life running away from people and then the people kill you anyways. It's a sad way to go._

_It's what we're fighting for though. Trying to get people out of a place like that. _

_Sorry if that ruined your Christmas. Didn't mean to, promise!_

_Your Hero, _

_Alfred Jones_

_January 8__th__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_I don't know what we're fighting for anymore. I heard about what they're doing to the Japs back home. It's pretty gruesome, Arthur. Kiku is Japanese-American and he got into the air force so he could avoid the labor camps back home. _

_Does this mean we're just as bad as the guys on the other side, Arthur? I dunno if I can live with that._

_Damn, I'm no hero, am I?_

_Alfred Jones_

Arthur was sobbing by the time he reached the spring. All the life had gone out of Alfred by then. There were no more happy, silly little letters. No more heroics or silly French foods.

_April 1__st__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_I wish someone would just come up to me and tell me this whole war was an April fools joke. _

_The guys on the other side of the line are people too. All of them. They've got families and boyfriends and girlfriends and kids and parents. We aren't fighting for anything, Arthur. We're just killing people out here._

_I wish I had something good to say. It's spring now so it's warmer and there's no snow anymore. I hated the snow. It was all red and black, and you could remember every person that died and exactly where they did when you flew over. So I'm glad the snow is gone. _

_I'm trying to be happy, promise. I just dunno how to do it anymore._

_Alfred Jones_

Then came June and _fucking dammit_ how Arthur hated June. June was the month that broke him more than any other, the one that made him want to scream, a month spent almost completely in a drunk stupor, trying to forget Alfred's steadily growing madness.

_June 20__th__ 1941_

_Dear Arthur,_

_I don't know what to do anymore. If I stay here, I'll go insane. I can't stop thinking about all the guys. Gilbert, Mattie, Francis, Kiku… I feel bad for their families, having to get that little paper telling them that their kid died. Francis and Mattie were thinking of moving in together when the war ended. _

_It hurts to write. It hurts to think. Everything hurts and I wish it would just stop._

_Alfred Jones_

That was the last letter Arthur had received from the boy. And now, in his hand, sat the boy's fate on a simple slip of paper, the same paper Alfred had mentioned in his last letter.

_The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret that your loved one Senior Airman Alfred F Jones was shot down on June 24__th__ 1941 over France. _


	25. June 25th, 2014

June 25th, 2014 - Threshold

**ARTIST**: alfiewithfries

**AUTHOR:** gemmawolf

**June 25th, 2014 - Threshold**

Although seeing all their family and friends on a glorious sunny day had been nice, it was soothing to get some peace and quiet in the green and grassy neighbourhood through which they were being driven. Alfred knew the surprise: a wedding present off his mom and dad; a perfect family-sized house in a picturesque area, one that they'd never have been able to mortgage without their donation. He'd been with them at the bank, at the estate agency, and signed the dotted line knowing that Arthur would be over the moon.

"Where on Earth are we going, Al?" the Brit asked, tugging his tie off and unbuttoning his shirt collar. It was a hot morning, and Alfred had to bite his lip as he thought about how the evening would get even hotter.

He took his mind of such thoughts, not wanting to make it awkward with his uncle being the driver for the limousine, and answered, "You'll see."

His husband - husband! - tutted. "That's not an answer," he muttered.

They were nearly there. While he still didn't know the street off by heart, Alfred was counting down the house numbers on the mailboxes. Finally, the car pulled up outside 145. The driver beeped the horn and announced they'd arrived.

Arthur looked out the window at the eggshell blue and white house, confused. "Where are we?" he asked as they got out the car.

Alfred grinned and wrapped his arms round him from behind to whisper in his ear, "Welcome home."

The shorter man broke from his grasp and turned to face him, eyes wide. "You didn't," he said, breathless, as the car drove away.

Alfred laughed and held his hand. "Well, mom and dad helped out." When it appeared his partner was rooted to the spot, he dragged him up the path to the porch, where they shared a blissful kiss. Alfred could feel the heat of the summer sun glowing against his hair, could smell Arthur's scent from the light sweat dampening the back of his shirt. It didn't matter that the heat was far too intense, or that the DJ had left the reception early, or that they didn't have a clue how they were going to start paying off the loan for the wedding; this was the happiest day of his life so far, and the first that they would spend as a real couple. He dug around in his pocket and withdrew a shiny silver key, and used it to open the front door.

"Guess I'd better carry you over the threshold then," he whispered against Arthur's lips once they parted. The Brit tried to pull away, but was firmly in his grasp.

"Alfred, no," he whined, squirming, then shrieked as the American tickled him into submission. "No Alfred, please! Stop!"

Alfred decided to play nicely, and let him recover his breath from laughing. "Come on," he said, pressing their foreheads together. "Let's go home."

Arthur sighed, but smiled and took his hand. "Alright." Alfred beamed and scooped him into his arms. "But if anybody sees us-"

"They won't," Alfred said, turning on the spot to face the door, causing an instant collision of Arthur's head against the door frame. He gave a surprised yelp from the nasty bump, and Alfred nearly dropped him from the shock; he couldn't believe he'd just done that.

Still, he only put the smaller man down inside the house. "Shit, Arthur, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" he asked, brushing the Englishman's hair away from the injury. There wasn't any blood, but it would likely bruise.

"I'm okay," he replied with a hiss, batting him away.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, Alfred. It's alright."

Alfred felt awful as his husband leant his back against the hallway wall, clutching his head and wincing. It must have hurt a lot more than the Brit claimed by the way he grit his teeth. "Stay there," he said, awkwardly stroking his shoulder. "I'll get some ice."

He kicked himself when he reached the refrigerator to find it empty; the entire house was bare, save for the fixtures, as they hadn't moved in yet. All they had was a bed and reservations at a fancy restaurant until the moving truck arrived in the morning. He returned to Arthur, who had hung his jacket on the newell post and sat on the wooden floor, head in his hands. "I don't feel well," he groaned.

Gripped by guilt, the American hung his jacket up as well and helped the poor bloke to his feet. "Come on, we'll try the neighbours."

The folks at 143 were out judging by the lack of a car on their drive, so they knocked on the door of 147. A brunette woman answered it, and after a brief explanation from Alfred that they now lived next door, they were literally newlyweds, and that they needed some ice, she ushered them inside.

"Well it's lovely to meet you," she smiled as she pressed and ice pack to Arthur's head. "We were hoping we'd get a nice young couple after died. How are you feeling, dear?"

"Dizzy," Arthur winced. "And a little sick."

She frowned, and Alfred felt his stomach drop with worry. "You'd better get this seen to. I'll drive you to the emergency room."

"I'm so sorry, Art."

"It's okay, Alfred."

"But it's not! I gave you a concussion!"

He sat by the side if the bed like a loyal pet, head hung low with the knowledge that he'd hurt the one he loved. They had been ordered to stay overnight to make sure Arthur's head was alright; the injury was mild, but still enough to cause concern.

Arthur chuckled. "I'll admit this isn't how I planned to spend my wedding night," he smiled, squeezing Alfred's hand reassuringly.

"Not to mention we'll have to postpone the honeymoon," the American grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I can't believe I did that."

"Ah well, I suppose you'll just have to dote on me hand and foot for the next few weeks while I recover."

Alfred smiled softly, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Deal."


	26. June 26th, 2014

June 26th, 2014 - Experiment 626

**AUTHOR:** jojoandpicnic97

**June 26th, 2014 - Experiment 626**

England was having a horrible day; America had dragged him _all_ over the island of Kauai prattling about "walking in the footsteps of Elvis" or whatever it was. The only part England was thankful for was that his American boyfriend actually _waited_ for him to catch up before he set off to another location. When asked, America just shrugged and said a simple "no one gets let behind."

It was now nearing four in the afternoon when America finally let him rest, both sitting on a loveseat in a hotel room that America had the foresight of booking. After ten minutes, America jumped off the couch and England feared he would once again be forced onto his already aching feet. Surprisingly— gratefully— the nation did _not _proclaim that a new adventure was waiting; rather, he was pulling something out of his backpack.

With a woot, he clamored over to the entertainment system while England bemusedly looked on. America sat back on the couch with a huff as the commercials for a Disney DVD started running. England didn't even bother questioning his odd movie choice, choosing to prop his tender feet up and relax into the couch.

England hardly noticed when the movie started playing, though he perked up at the sight of the colors and heard the music playing; they were singing in a mix of Hawaiian and English. As the movie progressed, he saw the main characters make their trip… in the footsteps of Elvis. _Did America really cart him all the way to Hawaii to mimic a low-budget Disney movie?_ He had known the American to do silly things but this… England was lost.

"You made me come all this way to live out a _kid film_," he accused, incredulous.

America gave him his best puppy-dog stare. "Bu-but Englaaaaaaaand," he whined.

England rubbed his temples. Just unbelievable. "Give me one good reason _why_ I had to be here, America." England did have better things to do—or at least that's what he convinced himself; he most likely would've spent today lounging around reading tea and drinking books and pretending he wasn't utterly bored without the American around.

"Be-_cause_," America explained, "it'd be more fun having someone to do this with and 'sides—" this was an odd part; America had matched his words with the weird blue animal on screen—"_ohana_ means 'family'—" he had grabbed England's hand and laced his fingers through—"and family means 'no one gets left behind or forgotten'!" He finished with a dazzling smile, most likely proud that he was able to talk along with the movie. "So of _course_ I had to bring _you _along, England! Duh!"

"Yes, but why _today _of all days?"

"Huh? Oh; it's six-two-six day!" At England's baffled look he added, "Y'know, coz Stitch is experiment six-two-six…"

England snorted and pecked his boyfriend on the cheek. "You _nerd_."

…

"You know who I should have invited, too? Canada."

"Who?"


	27. June 27th, 2014

June 27th, 2014 - Remember Me

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**June 27th, 2014 -** **Remember Me**

_"Alfred has been in an accident. on my way to hospital now. will keep you updated."_

Arthur read over Matthew's text again, his knees bouncing as he waited impatiently in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. Francis and Angelique sat across from him, just as fidgety, as they waited for Matthew to pop back in with the latest update on his brother.

Last time they saw Matthew, Alfred had finally woken up, and besides some scratches, bruises, a broken wrist, and a rather large bump on his head, there were no other serious physical injuries that they knew of.

"He hit his head pretty hard," Matthew explained, looking tired. "He's awake now, but that's all I know. They're about to let me in and see him, so I'll hopefully be back with more news soon."

That had been almost an hour ago, and the waiting was starting to drive Arthur crazy. Various foreboding scenarios ran through his head, each more dreadful than the last, and despite knowing Alfred was, at the very least alive, he began to over-think.

What if something _had_ happened to him? What if the American had been put into a coma, or _worse, _what if he had…

Arthur gulped, choking past his tears. Now wasn't the time for that. Alfred was okay.

He just wished he could see him for himself so he could _relax_ a little.

Finally, Matthew walked into the waiting room once again, still looking tired, but almost a little relieved. He smiled at them, though it didn't reach his eyes. Francis' eyes lit up hopefully. "How is he?"

Matthew bit his lip. "He's… not as bad as I thought," he replied cryptically. "He's talking, and in good spirits, all things considering…"

"Matthew, what is it?" Arthur asked, his eyes wide. Something wasn't adding up. Matthew was hiding something. "What aren't you telling us?"

"There's a little complication…" Matthew sighed heavily. "Alfred has some memory loss."

**O**

"Hey, Al? It's me again."

Alfred grinned from his spot on the hospital bed. Matthew cringed, still not used to seeing his brother all bandaged and bruised, but at least he was his usual bubbly self…if nothing else. "Hey!" he chirped, waving with his good hand.

"Some of your friends are here to see you," he explained softly, moving farther into the room so Arthur, Francis, and Angelique could file in behind him.

Alfred beamed. "Really? That's awesome!"

Francis approached Alfred first, holding out his hand for Alfred to shake. "_Bonjour mon ami,_ I am Francis Bonnefoy, do you remember me?"

Alfred shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry bro, I don't. I don't remember much though, so don't feel bad."

Matthew nodded. "He knows his name and his birthday and most other personal stuff, but not much about others." He glanced at Alfred wearily. "He didn't even know who _I_ was."

"He _is you_, though, you're identical twins!" Angelique mused, scrunching up her nose. "That's so weird. I'm Angelique, by the way. We're neighbors."

"Nice to meet you!" He paused. "Though I'm not really _meeting_ you, I guess. Heh. This is confusing."

Arthur had hovered a few feet behind the rest of the group, the look on his face making it obvious that he wasn't entirely comfortable seeing Alfred so beat up, which Matthew actually thought was a little adorable. As subtly as possible, he nudged Arthur forward.

"Ah-!"

Alfred blinked, finally noticing Arthur and leaning around Francis for a better look. "Oh, hey, I didn't see you back there! Who are—_whoa_."

Alfred's eyes widened, a small blush creeping over his nose and across his cheeks. Arthur looked back at him awkwardly.

"Wow, dude, seriously," Alfred said breathlessly, his eyes trained on Arthur and Arthur alone. "You are _gorgeous_. Are we dating?"

"W-what?!" Arthur shrieked, blushing wildly.

Matthew, a confusing mess of guilt for not thinking about exposing his brother to the guy he was in love with since sixth grade, and curiosity to see how it would pan out etched on his face, jumped between them. "A-Alfred, this is Arthur," he explained quickly, "your best friend."

"So we're _not _dating?" Alfred pouted. He tilted his head to the side. "Well, that sucks. I must be an idiot, letting a beautiful thing like you get away."

"What?!"

"Ooooh, this is awkward and amazing," Angelique whispered excitedly to Francis, but he was too busy recording the whole thing on his phone to do anything but grin and nod in agreement.

Arthur, his face still on fire, noticed, and rounded on Francis. "Stop filming this this instant, you prat!" he cried.

"Damn, you're British, too?" Alfred whistled appreciatively. "How have I not made a move on you yet?"

"I…you…" Arthur coughed. "Matthew, help!"

"Do not fight it, _mon ami_," Francis chuckled. "Is this not what you have always wanted?"

Alfred grinned. "Oooh, so you _do_ like me, huh?"

"F-Francis! Bloody hell!"

Matthew shook his head. The doctor said the memory loss would wear off as the injury healed, possibly faster if he spent a lot of time with people that could trigger memories, but this was ridiculous.

Oh well. At least when Alfred got his memory back, his reaction would be _hilarious._


	28. June 28th, 2014

June 28th, 2014 - Until the End

**AUTHOR: **starry-climes

**June 28th, 2014 - Until the End**

_London, 1940, during the Blitz_

The boy was standing across the room; the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting a silhouette and giving his carefully combed locks and cowlick a golden halo.

At attention, his posture straight, gut aching, England watches from the other end of the room, tracing the angles of America's maturing face with his eyes. Gone was the turbulent youth, the adolescent glitter of the Wild West and the cocky young man dirtied by the trenches.

Now he is in his prime, withdrawn, isolated. Outwardly flashing those brilliant smiles that make England's soul shiver. They promise hope, happiness…. idiocy. England turns to see Churchill, with deep weariness in the prime minister's eyes, making the boy laugh.

_How long could he last?_ England ignores the oozing blood, stitches, and bruises that cover his own body. He catches America's blue eyes, liquid cerulean in the sunlight that hits them. They flicker over him, accessing, bland, and uninterested. England's heart flinches, as his face remains the same. He dreads tonight.

~ooo~

The sirens wail. The _thud thud_ of anti-aircraft is heard, as spotlights light up the coming storm. England walks below the suddenly turbulent sky as his citizens commendable and proactive have joined their London neighbors in the tube tunnels below, or families in their shelters. A few like him walk under the danger uncaring, daredevil.

The show rages on above. He knows that the Churchills are out walking too, and he wonders if America is being his typical self, ever curious, ever seeking, tempting fate. The aeroplanes are bold against the night sky, and the deluge begins. His boys are up there too, fighting, fighting…

England feels the first bombs hit.

His sutures strain. He gasps, swallowing the pain that comes with it. His mouth opens unbidden with the shrill shriek of the falling bombs. He feels the royal family panic; Buckingham Palace has been hit. Everyone is safe though. England gasps down blood.

He has fallen to one knee without knowing, and looks down the street at London burning, burning.

A familiar figure stands at the end of the alley, gawking at the sights above. He knew the boy wouldn't stay safe. England feels a haze blur over his eyes and America's distant figure turns into a fuzzy dark shadow, oblivious to England's pain, staring away. Forever away. _My boy_. England's head is sparking, black dots spinning in his eyes; he sees liquid red around his hand, puddling… _my boy. Look at me_. The sirens wail as America stares upward, his glasses glinting from the explosions…_Ever away. So far away._

~ooo~

His teeth hurt. It is the first thing he realizes, his teeth are wound together, snapped tight in pain. Second are the voices, females speaking, their East London accents snapping through the echoing air.

"Is he your mate?" The voice asks to the tunnel, the muffled barrage above, echoing.

"Ah, yeah, sorta. He raised me." It is America who answers. Shock flitters through England.

"Took care of ya, did he?"

There is no response, and England can imagine the golden hair bobbing in response.

"Maybe now it is your turn to take care of him." It's brusque, generous, kind.

Footsteps echo away.

England's thoughts roil. How many times had he prevailed? His mind flits through ancient memories of his wild queen in blue and green, naked in her wrath, as the Roman ships slipped away daunted. The whipping waves filthy in fire, an Armada burning in the wrath of God. They always came, and always were thwarted. A few times not, though…the waves filled with Normans, the northern blond haired devils pillaging his people…

Rough large hands are now holding his. There is a soft touch of flesh on his bare knuckles and England's mind stops. America had kissed his hands. "England." It sounds lost, and America's voice is high tenor, reverberating from the tunnel. There is something dripping on his hands. America is crying.

England tries to clear his throat and wake completely out of his pain, as America presses his forehead against England's fingers. "England. Why did you hide it?" It is a bitter whisper.

" 'merica" it drags out of his throat, his eyes blinding by the light, probably only the low lamps of the tube, as he focuses on the shadow leaning over his hands.

Those piercing blue eyes, the color of sky are staring at him, tears dripping around them, nose and rims of eyes red. Men don't cry. It is what generations of human have taught. Proper British gentlemen, but England knows times beyond these, when it was acceptable and proper to show grief. He smiles, he can feel it, and fondness is in heart, bursting like a warm bubble slipping through his pain-wracked body.

America is gawking now. Gawking as he was at sky earlier. _Look only at me_, England's mind whispers, through the darkness of the past, _only me._

"England." There is a strange note of joy in America's voice, "England."

Arthur smiles again. His hand, slim and slender, gentry white, always protected by his gloves, reaches up and traces the boy's puckered tearstained red lips. It is war, he may die, as much as Churchill and his people fight for him desperately and with fervor that defies logic.

"Don't go…stay with me…please…" America's lips are quivering under his fingers, his voice mirroring his fear of the dark.

"Yes…" England murmurs," 'Til the end."

"The end?" The boy swallows; shadow flickers through his eyes.

"Mm…yes."

America is still looking at him, and over his puffy tear-stained face that idiot smile, filled with emotions this time, spreads across his face. "I'll be here." It is proud, brash.

"Mmm…" Promises were foolish things…

America swallows, his handsome face was too close now. England feels it now, the chapped lips against his own. His mind churns and his body aches, but he kisses back. _Until the end__,_ he thinks despairingly.


	29. June 29th, 2014

June 29th, 2014

**AUTHOR: **Anonymous

**June 29th, 2014 **

"Say it."

"I'm not gonna!"

"Then I'm not going to take you."

"But _Ennngland_ I really wanna go!"

"Well," England replied reasonably, not looking up as he finished stitching closed a small tear on one of his favourite stuffed teddy bears. "If you _really_ want to go, all you have to do is say three words."

America pouted, sighed, and finally relented. "Mmmic is mmll," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that." England looked up from his stitch and hid a smile.

"I said MAGIC IS REAL!" America shouted loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

England smirked and carefully put away his sewing supplies. "Now, that's more like it. Let's catch the train to Hogwarts, shall we?"

After convincing America that magic was real thanks to the magic of Harry Potter, it was even easier to convince the other nation that a train leaving from King's Cross station was the Hogwarts Express. They boarded one for Oxford, riding first class to help maintain the illusion, and arrived at Christ Church without America realising that the rolling English countryside was _not_ part of the Scottish hinterlands. In fact, he didn't notice that the ride was substantially shorter than it had been in the books, which England attributed to the fact that the train ride lasted only a short while in the movies.

Using his special status, England secured them a private tour of the dining hall. America gasped in delight when he saw the gorgeous dining hall with its high wood ceilings, beautiful oak paneling, and portraits coating the walls. He sighed happily as he brushed his fingers along the exquisite, well-worn tables and chairs. It looked like a place where students had eaten for many centuries because it _was_.

As America reached the front of the dining hall he finally noticed the ratty old hat perched on a stool. He stopped and stared, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor. "Oh my god!" he shrieked. "The SORTING HAT!"

England hid another smile. Sometimes America's childish exuberance irritated him, but he couldn't be annoyed when America focused on something so quintessentially English. "You can try it on, if you like," he offered.

America stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers. "Can I really?"

"Of course. Though it might not work unless you truly believe in magic."

"I do! I really really do," America promised earnestly as he approached the hat with an attitude approaching reverence. "_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor_," he chanted under his breath as he lifted the hat onto his head.

Moments later, a voice from within the hat said: "Hufflepuff."

"What?" America yanked the hat from his head and stared at it. "That's not a real house!"

"Yes, it is," England corrected with a chuckle. "It's one of the four."

"No, it isn't!" America insisted. "I watched all of the movies twice, and I never once saw a Hufflepuff!"

"Don't you remember Cedric Diggory?"

America rolled his eyes. "Edward is a _vampire__,_ England. He can't go to Hogwarts."

"Just because they're the same actor doesn't mean they're the same person," England corrected, slightly disgusted with himself for understanding a reference to Twilight. Unfortunately, seeing terrible movies was one of the downsides of dating America.

"Pfft. Yeah right. Next you'll be telling me Harry Potter isn't a real person."

"Uh," England paused, realising he'd been trapped into a corner by what passed for logic in America's head. "Well, it _is_ a real house. Their colours are yellow and black and their emblematic animal is a badger."

"Oh, yeah, I do remember a few people wearing yellow in the movie." America wrinkled his nose. "Geez, I got sorted into the Canada of the houses!"

England blinked. "Who?"

"_Exactly_."

"Hufflepuff has its perks," England said reassuringly. "They _are_ close to the kitchen." Before he could say anything more, he suddenly felt America plop the hat onto his head.

"Let's see which house you get!"

They waited in tense silence. "Hufflepuff," a voice said moments later. They stared at each other and laughed.

"Whatta y'know…" America grinned. "I think I see the advantage of Hufflepuff now."

And a few weeks later when America arrived at the world meeting wearing a yellow-and-black scarf and a Wisconsin Badgers t-shirt, the other nations looked to England―who was normally the voice of reason in their relationship―for an answer. He shrugged and told them not to ask. It was easier than explaining to the world that he had fooled America into believing the results of a toy sorting hat.


	30. June 30th, 2014

June 30th, 2014 - After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day

**AUTHOR:** Pepper's Ghost

**June 30th, 2014 - After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day**

"You're still here?" said England.

America was sitting on the lower bunk in their cabin. He gave England a cursory head-to-toe glance and then went back to staring at the wall.

"Roosevelt doesn't want me smoking anymore," said America. "Says my lungs are bad enough already and don't need any more favors done."

"I'd ask to take you for a drink but I know you know you shouldn't do that either," said England. He gently shut the door to the small cabin behind him and hung his hat on the back of the door.

"Yeah. All things considered I've been doing well at something at least."

England did not like the look of that wry smile on America's face. He crossed the tiny room in two steps and seated himself on the bed next to his companion.

"So instead of enjoying the lounge or the observation promenades you've been sitting here in this cramped cabin," said England. He gently reached out and grabbed one of America's hands and began rubbing small circles into it.

"Yep."

"That's unlike you."

"Well, I'm not feeling much like myself lately." America still refused to make eye contact with England despite England's repeated attempts trying to catch his eyes.

"Come off it – you've been getting better and better," said England. And it was true too. The dust surrounding his person had been cut down drastically. His health was looking up from the dazzling whiteness of his teeth returning to the shine of his hair coming back into prominence.

"Then why am I being forced to take a vacation instead of helping out back home?" America said. He had turned now to regard England and the other could see the bone deep weariness written in the scruffiness of his face, the purpling bruises under his eyes, and the unfocused eyes themselves.

"Well if you truly feel like my company is being forced on you I can leave," said England. He pulled back away from America and moved to regain his hat. This was not an argument they could afford to bring up again in such confined quarters. That, and England hated mollycoddling.

"We've been together long enough that you know I cannot sleep when traveling," said America. The brief fire in his eyes was out again. He had sunk back onto himself and cradled his head in his hands.

"I do believe zeppelin is the common term." England was still poised to leave but would not if he didn't have to.

"Can we not call them that."

"Fine. Dirigible – airship. Take your pick."

"I miss my airplane," said America. He has shifted and was now looking at the ceiling as if his desire could make the airplane appear and rescue him.

"That little thing can't make it to my house."

"Don't care. It makes me feel more alive then this moving void space."

"If it makes you feel better I'd much rather be traveling by boat. Now that's really feeling alive." Again England returned to America and sat with him on the bunk.

"Yeah. Me too. Maybe then I could stop worrying about how much this ticket cost my people or whoever wound up paying for it."

At the sound of America's voice cracking a bit at the thought of money England pulled the other into a hug which America slowly retuned in full.

"Now," said England as he pulled back slightly. "I know you haven't been staring out at the endless clouds since we got on this voyage. What have you been doing?"

"Reading. Mostly. Trying to sleep but that's not working no matter how tired I am. But reading is like meditation right? It gives parts of your mind a break?"

"You're right love. Now what book has so thoroughly captured your attentions that you missed dinner?"

That got a rise out of America. He had firmed up and was blushing faintly, refusing to look at England.

"No one in particular."

"Really now…doesn't seem quite right. It must be close by. Why have you hidden it?"

"I didn't hide it I just got to a sticky part and needed to think about it for a bit."

"I see. Well if that's the case – " Like lightening England reached around America and snatched the book that was barely poking out from under the pillow despite America's squeak of protest.

"Hey!"

"Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell – I've never heard of this before."

"That's 'cause it just came out today. It was long and I figured, 'why not?'"

"What's it about?"

"Just stuff."

"What kind of stuff."

"Stuff stuff."

England contemplated America's response as he skimmed several random pages.

"Good god Alfred! This is about your civil war," said England. "Why on Earth are you reading something like that at a time like this?"

"I dunno. I –" America was cut off by a string of loud coughs.

England set the book aside and brushed his hand through America's hair. America gave him a weak smile but soon his face contorted and started coughing heavily again. England rubbed America's back until the coughing subsided.

"I – " America paused to clear his throat again. " I suppose it's good not to forget things. I don't know how accurate it is because I don't remember much about then…well not the details like this…no, I remember some things but – I don't know. The whole thing was like being hit in the head with a baseball bat continuously. I guess it's nice enough to see how someone else remembers it."

"So do you like the book?" England said.

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't really know. I think it might make a good moving picture or something. It's not the normal sort of thing I'd read for sure."

The pair sat in silence for a long while before England spoke up, "Alfred you have just read a lengthy tome about a hard point in your history all in one go. It is an accomplishment worthy of something good to eat."

"You think so?" said America. A bit of cheer had bled back into his voice and England was glad for that. "And what sort of food would that entail?"

"I'm fairly certain the cook would not oppose us raiding the galley for something. Ice cream perhaps. Although seeing as you missed dinner how about a hamburger."

"Hamburger's are great."

"Yes. Hamburgers can make everything better."

The pair stood and after a half armed hug and a quick kiss to the lips, they made their way out the door fueled by the fire of a new mission.

X

_Author's Notes: There are so many of my headcanons woven into this story and so many history references that the author's note that covered everything was almost as long as the fic itself. I thought that was crazy so all you really need to know about the whole thing is that zeppelins are awesome and fit the time period (a thing that almost killed the story until I remembered zeppelins) and were the way to travel if you were well off back in the 30s. Cabins were usually a little bigger then a sleeper cabin on a train and the ride itself was so steady that many passengers usually missed disembarkment. Although Lindbergh did make his big hop across the Atlantic in 1927 most planes were not well equipped to do the same. That combined with America's not so great but improving health would make everyone from England to the current president Franklin D. Roosevelt adamantly forbid him flying. Lastly, the title is the last line of Gone with the Wind._


End file.
